The Lost Years
by KJ Rose
Summary: A new generation is off to Hogwarts, and Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger meet again after ten years. The event sparks questions, doubts, and memories of their last year at Hogwarts together in 1998.
1. An Epilogue & A Beginning

A/N:

Forgive me for being terribly late to this bandwagon. I grew up with these books, loved the depth and characters, but always wanted something...else. I guess maybe this was it? As this is my first Harry Potter fic, I appreciate all feedback on the world or characters or writing (this is fanfiction after all :D). This fic will jump between two different times (2017 - ? and 1998), and _attempt_ to keep things mildly canon. No promises. But if you wanted canon, you'd read the books, right?

This story is rated M for language (teenagers) and future content (also teenagers). The plot in this is just falling out so I'm hoping to update pretty frequently. Thanks to all who stumbled upon this and took the time read it!

-KJ

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 **T** **he Lost Years**

 **Chapter 1: An Epilogue & A Beginning**

 **September 1, 2017**

If he were acting on the firm basis of normality, he shouldn't have given a flying fuck. Passing feelings and would-have-could-have-should-ofs, were meant for idiots and Hufflepuffs (one in the same, actually, the more he thought about it). But here he was, watching his only son smile up at him in dark robes, and he felt positively hollow. It was a wide smile –foreign for a Malfoy—plastered proudly on Scorpius' face, and Draco almost felt the need to bend his knee, ruffle the boy's hair and say something completely paltry like _"Be a good boy and make us proud!"_ or _"Home won't be the same without you! Write to us all the time!"_.

He sneered at the thought. Draco held his head high while Astoria gave their son a quick hug and peck on the cheek. Her eyes were glossy, shining even in the dismal lighting of King's Cross. His heart quickened at the sight of his wife like this. He hated to see her upset—something normally reserved for the taut meetings with his parents—and he knew the upcoming year would be hard on her. Astoria was the perfect picture of a Mrs. Malfoy. Pureblood, beautiful, intelligent, well-respected. Her responsibilities were running the household and raising Scorpius, and suddenly those responsibilities had been slashed in half. Her face looked pallid, ashen, and Draco's heart squirmed even more. She had been selfless when it came to Scorpius, in an infinite amount of ways, and now her son was leaving and staring at him, expecting some fatherly words of advice. Draco blinked, grey eyes dulling. _What the hell am I supposed to say?_

"Darling, our son asked you a question."

 _He did?_ Draco had obviously been too engrossed in whatever thoughts in his head to notice. "What was it?"

"That you won't be mad? If I'm not in Slytherin?"

He didn't entertain the thought. "You'll be in Slytherin."

Scorpius frowned, shoulders hunching, "But if I'm not…"

"You will be." Draco blinked. "I'm not sure why we're wasting our time talking about this."

Astoria's faint smile faded even more, but Draco didn't take back the words. His son would be in Slytherin. Clearly he wanted to be, and if Draco had any recollection of his own sorting when he was eleven, he knew that the musty old hat took some consideration of what _you_ wanted. _I would have been the worst Ravenclaw._ He smirked at the memory, which Astoria mistook for smirking at their son's anxiety. _Shit._ "Scorpius…" He did bend down at that and looked at his son. Scorpius' eyes were his, his hair was his, every physical ounce of this child's body _screamed_ Malfoy. But there was a softness and an empathy that Draco certainly did not possess at eleven. He had to credit Astoria for that.

"Scorpius…" He started again. "I don't care if you're in Slytherin."

Grey eyes blinked. "You don't?"

"No, that's a lie. I bloody do."

"Draco!" Astoria hissed.

But Draco gave her a soft smile before turning back to their son. "I do, but it's not the most important thing. Not by a long shot. Just…be happy. That's all I want. Be happy and get good grades, and do not get in as much trouble as I did."

Astoria snorted but did not speak. Draco stood back to his full height and was about to do the ever so clichéd ruffle of hair gesture when his son pointed. "Who's that?"

He turned and his eyes immediately narrowed. It had been a while, over a decade, since he had seen the Weasleys. He had been invited to their wedding but sent over an enchanted vacuum cleaner in his stead (Granger barely seemed the type to be committed to housework). Out of etiquette, he had invited them both to his and Astoria's wedding, and they, surprisingly with Potter and the other Weasley, showed up and gave some bizarre mini-oven. A Muggle invention for sure, but Astoria seemed to appreciate it decently enough.

They both, generally, looked the same. The Weasley boy seemed to have the Butterbeer sneak up on him a bit and this wisp of red hair dotting his chin, but he was all in all, incredibly recognizable. Granger had a few more wrinkles but the same bird nest of brown frizz. She seemed to be positively _glowing_ and that whole idea had Draco swallowing and running his hands through his own tied-up hair. He hated it long. How Astoria convinced him that the shoulder length hair looked _good_ on him he would never know. It reminded him of his father, of the decade and a half he spent trying to _impress_ his father. _I need to cut this bloody thing off._

"That's Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and their daughter," Astoria answered promptly. Merlin bless this woman and her lack of history with Potter and his gang. Time and social obligations had led to a slightly tainted indifference to Potter and Co., but Draco couldn't help what memories were drudged up at the mere sight of Potter, Weasley, or Granger. His left arm tinged just thinking about it, about all the stupid _shit_ he had gone through, about how absolutely fucked up his childhood and adolescence actually were. His eyes fell to Scorpius again. _You won't have to deal with any of that. I promise you._

"She's pretty."

Those same grey eyes widened, and Draco half-choked. "Granger?! Scorpius, she's at least…"

"I think he means Rose, _darling_." Astoria snorted again, but something in her tone made him think she did not find anything currently funny. "That's what their child's name is, isn't it?"

Rose Granger-Weasley. Astoria had been wrong before; of course the bloody witch kept her last name and her child had a hyphenation. Draco looked at Rose and couldn't help but think how much she looked like Hermione at that age, if Hermione had fire-red hair. She was a pretty girl, he admitted, though that admission made him realize that some part of him also thought _Granger_ was pretty and he refused to voice that thought. Draco didn't answer his wife. "Their son is Hugo." Merlin knows why he knew that little fact.

Potter was on the platform as well, a thin messy haired boy currently wrapped in his arms and two other children roaming about. The Hogwarts Express hummed and called all of its passengers, blowing steam across Platform 9 ¾. It felt hot as the waft hit Draco's face and he gave his son a quick, loose hug, words failing to come to him. "Be good," he finally murmured, mouth leaning close to his son's ear. _Please be good._

The children were on. The train started to move and this whole flood of unwelcomed nostalgia practically floored him. Draco grabbed his wife's hand. He had been a nervous, petulant child. He had been scared and determined and cocky all wrapped in one weird, tormented bundle. He had wanted nothing more than to be in Slytherin ( _easy_ ), be friends with Harry Potter ( _ha_ ), and make his father proud ( _double ha_ ).

"Astoria!"

Someone, a woman, had called after his wife. Astoria seemed to be shocked by that as well and turned her dark head to see that it was, in fact, Ginevra Potter. She hesitated, and with a small pulse of her palm, loosened her grip on her husband and walked on over to the red head. It was a small circle of women—Astoria, the new Potter, and Granger—huddled in small talk. They all had children the same age, all had some sort of connection, and as much as Draco wanted to deny it, he had a _huge_ connection to their husbands as well. Granger looked practically peevish when Astoria joined their small circle. But seeming to catch herself, her reluctant scowl morphed into a small grin, patting the woman on the back before introducing her son.

"Malfoy."

The familiar voice of his rival always seemed to irk him, even now. Draco bit back the visceral reaction and lowered his shoulders. "Potter." His grey eyes jumped to the taller man next to him. "Weasley."

Harry Potter was still skinny. He still had messy hair and crooked glasses and a scar that marked his fame and heroism. He was also still, as far as Draco was concerned, a complete arse. "Is it a bad time to tell you we are still coming over tomorrow to inspect the Manor's dark artefacts?"

Business. Draco wished he had a business, but after being a Death Eater, at however young he was, most jobs seemed to be out of his reach. But Golden Boy and Weaselbee were heroes and Aurors. Forget the fact that Potter and Weasley never even finished their N.E.W.T.s. Forget the fact that Draco had forced himself to go back to the mess he made at Hogwarts and complete seventh year with Gr—

 _Stop that._ He bit his lip. Would-have-could-have-should-ofs were meant for idiots and Hufflepuffs. "Is it a bad time to tell you that Scorpius is going to slog your brat in Quidditch?"

Potter laughed. "I plan to see you at every match."

"Get out your red and gold then."

"Assuming he's in Gryffindor."

That seemed to shock both the Weasel King and Draco. "Pardon?"

"James was almost in Ravenclaw." Potter paused. " _I_ was almost sorted into Slytherin. Who's to say what house Albus will get."

"His name is bloody Albus." Draco thought that reason enough.

The Weasel was getting red in the cheeks, as if the thought alone that his daughter could be in anything else besides Gryffindor would lead to his death. And he voiced as such. "Rose is a Gryffindor through and through."

Draco shrugged. House loyalties were almost as dumb as blood purity. Almost. Green and silver still looked best on the Malfoy complexion.

Potter and Trio Member #2 looked back to the group of wives, and then #2 decided to say something completely baffling. "Astoria seems nice."

Draco looked for the snide comment, for the underhanded insult wrapped somewhere in that sentence. But what was he doing? Weasley wasn't smart enough for that. "She is." He focused on the women as well. Granger had her hand on his wife's shoulder, laughing. Something deeply buried was making his stomach churn. "Sorry, but have either of you noticed that we're having a decent conversation? No weasel or ferret jokes? No Potter-branded sass?"

Potter blinked behind his frames. "I know. Bugger me."

The women had decided to end their chit chat and soon, Potter's wife had her arm on her husband's shoulder, leaning profusely. Draco had to admit that Albus had genetics working in his favor what with Harry's history as a Seeker and Ginny's stint on the Holyhead Harpies. But no matter. It wasn't like Astoria had been a pushover, well before all of…

Astoria interrupted his thoughts as she snaked an arm through his, her head doing the leaning. Draco fidgeted, unaccustomed to any sort of public display of affection from this woman and saw that she was staring not at him, or Weasley or either Potter. Her gaze was firmly set on Granger who just stood there, one hand holding her son's and the other loose at her side. Ron coughed. "Hugo, are you going to miss your sister?"

The shy, red-headed boy said nothing, but his mother was staring at Astoria. And then, for some damn reason, those brown eyes decided to look at Draco and he felt his body flinch. _Fuck._ "Hi Draco."

His name took him off guard, though it really shouldn't have. She had called him by his first name the last time they truly talked to each other. _But that was so long ago._ He had a million and one things he wanted to say to this woman, but she just seemed to stand there, calm and fucking _glowing._ Endless words were on his tongue: bad, horrible, _life ruining_ words. He swallowed deeply, unsure what to call her. "Hello."

He expected some nonsense like, " _I haven't seen you in a while"_ or even _"How have you been?_ " but there was nothing. Hermione's gaze shifted down to her son and soon she was heading back to apparate with her son and husband.

Her _husband_.

Merlin, why the fuck was that so weird to think about? They had been married for what? 12 years? Astoria leaned more into his shoulder before they headed their own way. "Strange seeing them, isn't it Draco?"

He nodded. He swore Astoria had some absurd ability in Legilimency. The barriers in his own mind started building. "It was strangely…" Pleasant was the wrong word. "Sufferable."

"And think, we'll see them again in December and then June and then…"

"Yes, yes." He knew what his wife was driving at. She was about as discrete as a troll.

"All the time. Just like seventh year."

He wanted to correct her and say that it was more like eighth year for him and sixth for her. And that Potter and Weasley hadn't even been _around_ his weirdly unnatural final year at Hogwarts. But that was entirely the wrong answer. And he loved his wife enough to say, "It'll be nothing like seventh year."

She kissed his cheek. It was warm, wet, and brimming with sadness. "I love you."

"I love you too."

.

.

 **September 1, 1998**

She didn't want to be best friends with Ginny Weasley because, as far as she was concerned, it was incredibly not normal to be best friends with your boyfriend's little sister. Sure if and when she and Ron got married they could become friends, even sisters. But anything before that made Hermione uncomfortable. That and the fact that she _really_ had no desire to know what it was like to snog Harry.

So she had said hello to the girl, asked her if she had any anxiety going back to Hogwarts after the battle (aptly named _The Battle of Hogwarts_ ), and then proceeded to find an empty compartment on the train, a N.E.W.T-level Care of Magical Creatures text in hand.

This was not intended to be a social year. This was not intended to be anything but a necessary year. When Ron and Harry had both announced their plans to not return to Hogwarts and finish up their schooling, Hermione practically lost it. She did not attend six years of magic school to _not_ get a diploma. Her parents, memory now restored, would never hear the end of it. _She_ could never live with herself, and she was surprised that her best friend and boyfriend could.

Ron had been rather annoying about it, actually. It still bothered her that the mere thought of going back to school and actually _finishing_ what she started could be considered a waste of time. She loved the boy, but he could really be such a twit sometimes.

After last year, Hermione had been looking forward to just getting her life situated. Hogwarts would be a mess, she knew, but a part of her was looking forward to helping the institution get up and running again. McGonagall would need the help, she was certain, and Hermione would bend over backwards to help the school get back into some degree of order.

Though it would be weird without Harry or Ron. It would be…not like school at all. And a part of Hermione just wanted to go to class, lock herself in the library, take her N.E.W.T.s and get back to her friends. _It'll be okay._ She thumbed through the same page. The train had been moving for about ten minutes or so, and she counted herself lucky that no first years had gone searching for her or her friends. Thanks to that insatiably annoying Rita Skeeter, there had been quite a bit of press coverage about the dubbed _Golden Trio_. There was an especially disgusting personal series concerning her and Ron that she had no intention of reliving. _It's Hogwarts. You can relax. No horcruxes or traveling across Britain. No unforgivables. No Death…_

Her thoughts stopped as the door to her otherwise vacant compartment slid open. Hermione edged back, recognizing the blond hair immediately. _Well, scratch that then._

Draco Malfoy looked at her briefly, a sharp streak of anxiety flashing over his face before he looked away. She expected him to turn right around and head out of her compartment. She _wanted_ him to. But the boy simply sat across from her on the far end of the seat and kept his head down. His robes seemed…not new. Not old or shabby or threaded by any means, but they weren't the brand new robes that he would have normally received. In his hands were several worn, leather ripped books, and the whole thing seemed so completely bizarre to Hermione that she couldn't help but stare at him.

He was still incredibly pointy—sharp, aristocratic nose, high cheek bones, scowling mouth. His hair was the same white blond, his skin pale and lightly hued with the fresh tan of summer. There was no doubt that to the general student population Draco would be deemed attractive. There were many nights in the Gryffindor girl dormitories where all the girls (Hermione unfortunately included) sat up giggling and ranking every boy in each house. Slytherin was always one of the more heatedly combated, and if she had to hear another debate about Blaise Zabini and Malfoy one more time, she would throw herself from the train.

After being bullied by this boy for six years and having her arm mauled open by his aunt, it was hard for Hermione to ever consider him attractive. So all in all, Hermione thought he looked horrid and skinny, but somehow still _better_ than sixth year.

And though the sympathetic and (she had to admit) pitying part of Hermione was glad he looked like he had actually been sleeping and eating, the majority of her hated his guts and wanted him as far away from her as possible. She stifled that though, acknowledging silently to herself that this was a free country and that horrible, terrible boys could sit where they wanted to. She was still thumbing the same page of her book, reading over and over how to properly approach a Chimera (no bowing—that shows weakness), when Malfoy got up from his seat, walked towards the compartment door and locked it.

Her hand immediately went for her wand. She pointed it straight at him, heart hammering, chest pounding. Her book fell carelessly on the floor as she saw Malfoy raise an eyebrow at her. Hermione was less than amused. "What do you think you're doing?!"

"Locking a door."

"Why?"

That blond eyebrow arched higher, if at all possible. His voice was cool, even. "I'm trying to get through this as painlessly as possible." His grey eyes narrowed at the wand pointed at his face. "Obviously you have other plans, Granger."

She ignored how calm he sounded as it seemed to have nothing to do with how he actually felt. His shoulders were raised, tense. His face looked pinched, and Hermione lowered her wand. He had done nothing, absolutely nothing, and she was basically threatening him. _Get a hold of yourself._ Her voice was lower than she intended. "Didn't you come back for seventh year? Why are you even here?"

"You mean, before Voldemort locked me and my entire family up in our house for letting Potter go?" His tone was laced with bitterness. It sounded dry, sore. Malfoy dropped his head on the back of the cushioned seat with a muffled _clunk_. "Why are _you_ here? Don't you have enough wizards knocking on your door and singing your praises? What the hell do you need a degree for?"

The question took her off guard. She wasn't comfortable talking to Malfoy about anything, let alone the same topic she last discussed with her boyfriend. Instead she brought her legs up to her seat and leaned against the window. She was in a thin jumper and Muggle jeans, comfortable clothes for the (now incredibly) long train ride. Hermione turned the page. She hadn't finished the previous one, but she could feel Malfoy's eyes on her and wanted to appear busy.

Malfoy had picked up his own text—Arithmancy it seemed like. He was quite good at Arithmancy if she remembered, and the dreadful feeling that they would actually have classes together started to sink in. Of course, something deep inside her bones knew that he wasn't evil, that he had saved their lives in Malfoy Manor and the Battle of Hogwarts and so on and so forth. She knew that without him, she and her two best friends would be dead. But then there was also the nagging (and accurate) voice in her head that repeated that without him, Dumbledore would be alive. That without him, she wouldn't have cried all through second year or thought herself worthless and wish that her parents had been wizards instead of dentists.

Though that had only been a passing thought. She loved her parents. They were safe and still living in Australia, preferring the dry, sinking heat to Britain's notoriously horrid weather. And now, staring at the pale prat, Hermione couldn't have been prouder of her Muggle heritage.

His grey eyes glanced up, and Hermione flinched as he caught her staring. Beads of sweat lined her hairline, and she quickly found that really, the Scottish Highlands were quite beautiful. It was a sunny day; the clouds moving so quickly across the blue sky that made her think it would rain soon. Malfoy shifted, about to speak, and Hermione braced herself for whatever cocky, insulting remark the boy could possible make. "That's the wrong edition."

It took her a few seconds to acknowledge that what he said was neither arrogant or obtuse. Hermione glanced at her book. "No, it isn't."

He shrugged and flipped a page of his Arithmancy text, and when she huffed and turned back to her own reading, she felt a leather spine lightly collide with her shoulder. Malfoy was still reading when he said, "Ninth edition, not sixth."

The colliding book was in fact a N.E.W.T-level Care of Magical Creatures text. It was also, to Hermione's dismay, a newer edition than the one cradled in her lap. If this had been any other boy, Hermione would thank him, ask to borrow the text for the duration of the train ride, and feel completely embarrassed over her earlier denial that she had the right book. But she felt none of that and instead tossed the book back to Malfoy. His year-old robes were open, revealing a high collared jumper and black trousers. The book fell inelegantly by his black boots.

Malfoy picked up the book and checked to see if the spine were still intact. "You're welcome, Granger."

Maybe it was the guilt from mishandling his text that had her talking. Yes, she'd go with that. "You're in Care of Magical Creatures?"

Grey eyes were only on Arithmancy. "It would appear so."

"I thought you _hated_ that class."

"I thought you hated _me_ but look at you, knowing all this about me. Who would have guessed?"

She shuffled in her seat and closed her own book before straightening against the window. The words that immediately fell on her lips were " _No, I think you're an obnoxious, misguided twat, but I don't_ hate _you_ " but that seemed a bit too argumentative this early in the school year. Hermione, although buzzing to fight with this boy, also wanted to avoid any sort of attention. Getting into verbal rows with ex-Death Eaters would be a bit attention grabbing, especially on her first day. So instead, the witch looked at the small stack of books by his side, noting that many of them were classes she also intended on taking. "You're taking a lot of N.E.W.T.s?"

He seemed too alert at the question, as if, like Hermione, he had also expected some sort of grating, witty backlash. "Something to keep me busy. You?"

The words were too shallow. Something to keep him busy. Something to occupy his time, his thoughts. Something to make him not remember what happened last year and (maybe even) the year before that. Hermione swallowed, feeling suddenly vulnerable across from him. "Me too."

He nodded curtly and went back to reading, and then after the sweets cart came and the rain truly started falling, he placed the ninth edition of _Highly Advanced Care of Magical Creatures_ next to her.

It took her another ten minutes to start reading it.

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A/N:

Thank you all again for reading! Any feedback would be much appreciated :)


	2. Filthy Hands

A/N:

Ah! Thank you all for the praise and reading this story! I always get so nervous when I post in a fandom for the first time (And I was ESPECIALLY nervous to post in something as popular as HP). I appreciate the support and wanted to update quickly for you all :)

I also realized my last chapter did not have a disclaimer. Whoops.

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters, places, etc. are not the property of me or anyone I know. This is unfortunate.

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 **Chapter 2: Filthy Hands**

 **September 2, 2017**

Her husband looked nervous as he stared in the mirror, straightening his collar under his robes and ruffling his hair, making it worse and even more like bedhead. She smiled. He could be such a dork sometimes (most times), but today he seemed especially jittery and anxious. Hermione yawned and turned from the bed to put on her slippers. "No coffee today then?"

"What? Sorry?" Ron Weasley turned to look at his wife. "Of course I want coffee! I already have the press setup and everything." He was flustered, and seeming to realize his flustered state, Ron sighed. "The nerves, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Merlin, why am I so nervous?"

Hermione shrugged and sat up, straightening the oversized t-shirt she used as a makeshift nightgown. She leaned over her husband's shoulder so that they were both within the mirror's frame. "Maybe because the last time we are at that manor we…"

"Were captured and you were brutally tortured by a psychopath?" Ron forced a chuckle. "Yeah, I suppose that's fair."

"It's just a house." She still had the scars on her arm. They were faded, the actual word not incredibly legible unless looked at very closely, but Hermione still wasn't one to wear short sleeves. The phrase got caught in her throat, unwanted memories tearing their way through her head. "That one moment does not taint the whole place."

"I bet the whole place is _flooded_ with dark magic still." Ron finally got the collar straight. Hermione flattened out his hair, ignoring the irony that her own was especially gravity-defying today. "Do you think Malfoy just leaves it out and in the open? He's also been such an arrogant bastard…"

She scoffed. The very idea of the _Slytherin_ just leaving potentially dangerous magical artefacts almost had her laughing. "He has a child, Ron."

"So?"

She hit him gently on the shoulder. "Draco isn't…"

"Draco? Isn't what? A pompous, ex-Death Eating prat? Hermione…"

"You know I think he isn't." Her voice was firm, stern. She backed away from the mirror and started digging in her wardrobe for her own robes. Today would be a weird day. Last night had been a weird night. She…she hadn't seen him in a while, hadn't spoken a word to him since his wedding and that was over a decade ago, and she had brewed one (or two) draughts of peace for the event.

Of course she knew he had a son. The whole wizarding community knew he had a son. And she was always reminded of that fact when she visited Harry and had to stare at that ridiculous tapestry. Speaking of sons… "Hugo has a packed lunch for school?"

Ron nodded. "He's a very good boy. Must you subject him to Muggle school?"

Today was not the day, Ronald Weasley. "Yes."

"Why? My mum always tutored me."

She flinched and took the t-shirt off over her head. After putting on her bra and a collared shirt, Hermione took a breath. "I hope you're not expecting me to quit my job and start tutoring our son."

Ron dragged a hand through his hair, fussing it up again. "Of course I don't, Hermione. We could hire a tutor or…"

"And why waste galleons on that when we live in a _perfectly_ fine public school district? Muggle or not, Hugo is learning the same maths and history that he should."

"Not wizarding history."

"He has books."

"And you don't think Rose will notice the difference now that she's at Hogwarts? That everyone else has this solid background from an experienced tutor and she doesn't?"

"Rose will be fine. _I_ was fine. I had no idea magic _existed_ and was I at some great disadvantage, Ronald?" She didn't realize how loud her voice was getting or that she managed to button her shirt wrong. _Bollocks._

"Hermione…" he turned from the mirror and placed his hands on her shoulders. She un-tensed and he stared at her, blue eyes wide and confused. "Bloody hell, I think you're more nervous than I am right now. You don't have to go, you know. Only Harry and I…"

"I know and I'm not." She had her own job at the Ministry. "Sorry, Ron. I think it's just strange. Rose off to Hogwarts and all."

"I saw the post came last night."

"Yes, not from our daughter though. Your sister was the one to tell me she got into Gryffindor."

Ron beamed. "And you were waiting to tell me this because?"

"Albus was sorted into Slytherin."

"Ha! You're joking! Aren't you? Oh, poor Harry." Ron laced up his shoes. "Poor guy's going to be pretty grim today, isn't he?"

Hermione didn't comment. She imagined Harry almost expected it. Albus, although resembling his father quite a bit, did not have the same _gusto_ that a Gryffindor usually possessed. He was smart, quiet, and ever so good at getting Ginny to give him extra dessert on Christmas.

"Packed a lunch for me as well?"

Hermione laughed at her husband. "You know I never do."

He kissed the side of her head. "See you at dinner."

Ron took the apparated to Wiltshire, and twenty minutes later, Hermione was hugging her son goodbye and getting ready to Floo to the Ministry. Their London flat was small, though feeling suddenly bigger now that Rose was no longer around running up and down the halls with stuffed otters and terriers in her hands. She was such a loud, intelligent child, and Hermione missed her deeply. Her thoughts unconsciously (though they were her thoughts so maybe that's extremely conscious) strayed to Astoria Greengra—Malfoy, who had only one child that was now gone and lived in a mansion. How empty and cold did that feel? Though Draco would be there. She knew Draco didn't work, that his Ministry file was branded and stamped with red ink. _All those Outstandings and nothing._ Hermione frowned. She had thought too much about her final year at Hogwarts already.

She grabbed an apple, slipping it into her robe before taking the Floo to the Ministry. The Ministry of Magic, despite it being 2017 and Muggles and all the like having cell phones and instant messaging and voicemail, was only slightly improved from the version she had been familiar with as a child. They still relied on owls for post, but thank Merlin Harry and Ron had forced the Ministry to have internet and actual phones for emergencies. Of course none of it could be used for anything confidential, but still. It was nice to be able to _call_ her husband to pick up Hugo from school when he had accidentally eaten too much paste.

She had her own desk, which she loved, and her own office, which sometimes was great and other times was incredibly isolating. When she worked for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, she had happily been on the floor, chatting with her coworkers and the like. But she had transitioned to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, albeit bitterly at first, examining ancient laws that really bore no need in modern society.

It was a setup, she knew. She was being groomed to be head of the department and then head of… God, she didn't want to think about it. Shacklebolt was doing a fine job still, and she didn't…she didn't…

"Ms. Granger?"

Hermione lifted her head. "Arthur, please!" She dropped the apple on her desk and gave her father-in-law a quick hug. "I suppose you heard already? Your granddaughter is a Gryffindor."

"And my grandson is a Slytherin." Arthur smiled. "Should make Christmas dinner a bit more interesting, don't you think?"

"Yes, yes." She blinked, realizing that Arthur was most likely not here for a simple visit. Her office was a mess. She had too many books on the shelf that they started spilling over to stacks on her desk and floor. Hermione was currently in the process of reviewing some _horrid_ law about pure-blood marriage customs (that luckily most pure-blood families seem to have long forgotten because, honestly, were pigs still a form of currency?), and the file was sprawled out over every possible inch of desk space. Her next push would be for a good old fashioned Muggle scanner. "What can I do for you, Arthur?"

"I was hoping you could step in for me a bit. I have to run to Malfoy Manor to help with some of the confiscation…"

 _Confiscation?_ "Oh! Please sit!" She interrupted and sat down herself, holding out a hand to the plush chair across from her desk. She started tapping her quill on her wooden surface, but it made no satisfying noise. _Pens. Scanners and bloody pens._ "Sorry, you were saying?"

"Yes, well." Arthur sat, robes furling around him. "I have to take off to Wiltshire. I'm guessing the boys told you we're having another go at the place now that Lucius seems to have completely let go of the reigns."

Hermione nodded. From what she could recall, he had gone to Monaco with Narcissa Malfoy two years back. She thought of her own parents in Australia. "You'd like my help?"

"Absolutely not! Not with that. I know how that place must…"

"I can do it." She was talking before she understood her own words. Hermione pushed back a stray curl. "It was so long ago, Arthur. I can go."

"I was actually just wondering if you could just meet with _the Daily Prophet_. They plan on doing a big piece on the whole Department and I was supposed to tour them and…"

That sealed it. "To be honest, Arthur, I rather go to the Manor." _Because I hate reporters and am apparently a gigantic masochist._ Hermione attempted to straighten out the files on her desk. "Unless there is another…"

The head of her department held up his hands. "Be my guest, Hermione. The wards may be back up by now, so you won't be able to get there by Floo. I can Apparate you there if you…"

"Unnecessary." She grabbed her faux-leather handbag—a giant amorphous thing—and rummaged around for a compact. _Merlin, stop._ She threw the tiny mirror back into her bag. "Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, England. Got it. I think I remember the place well enough, but thank you, Arthur."

"Good luck, dear. Oh! And Molly wants to know if we're still on for Sunday brunch?"

Her nerves formed a messy grin on her face. "I'll bring the rolls."

.

.

 **September 1, 1998**

He had never seen the threstrals before. The first six years he had been fortunate enough to, well, not have that experience, and his faux-seventh year had been such a mess and a half that he hadn't even shown up at school until October. Common sense would have it that the carriages were enchanted to move without any sort of animal, but he'd known since fifth year that there was some beast doing the dirty work. He believed Theo enough, and he was right—the things were bloody terrifying.

Granger, for whatever reason, was still hanging around him and not going off with the girl Weasley or Lovegood or…was Longbottom not here either? Draco curled his mouth. Last time he checked, a wizard needed five N.E.W.T.s in order to be an Auror. _I suppose exceptions can be made for war heroes._ His eyes strayed to Granger who was still around him and looking at the threstrals with the same expression he felt. They were bony and grey, practically _decaying._ Discomfort drove him to talk. "Vile looking, aren't they?"

The witch turned to face him, a hard look on her face. "I think they're just…lovely."

 _Liar_. He opened up the carriage door, ignoring the looks of avoidance from students of each and every house. Theo had attended his seventh year fully and had taken his own N.E.W.T.s over the summer. Greg never bothered with N.E.W.T.s and was currently spending all his time doing voluntary reconstruction services for the Ministry. Blaise and Pansy were in the same boat as Draco and were…somewhere. He really didn't have the energy to seek them out and decided to get into the closest carriage.

He felt the eyes on him at King's Cross. He felt them tenfold now, out in the night sky, Hogwarts hovering ahead and just reminding him of the last time he set foot at this place. His mother ( _Merlin bless her)_ had saved their family by saving Harry, and as much as she liked to tell him that he did too, that he had helped earn their freedom, Malfoy knew otherwise. He could have done more. He could have done less. He could have burned that bloody cabinet to the ground and tried to not be the _youngest fucking Death Eater ever_.

He was grabbing his left forearm when Granger moved in next to him, sitting down like he had done before on the Hogwarts Express. Her eyes were down. She still had his Care of Magical Creatures textbook, and she slid the book to him, never looking up. Draco shook his head and slid the book back. "Keep it. My mum can send me another one. I doubt your parents know where to get it."

Hermione hesitated. Her hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail that made the bushy end seem even bushier. Her hands reached and took the book, dragging it back to her chest. She looked tanner from the summer, fresher, and Draco exhaled, attempting to relax.

There was clear worry etched in her face though. Her brows were furrowed, and he had to wonder why this girl, who had been a hero and star student, felt any sort of anxiety. One thing did come to mind. "You don't have to sit with me."

She looked up to him. She was wearing Muggle clothes, not even bothering to wear her robe over them. It was decently hot outside, and he saw that the right sleeve of her jumper had been pulled up. The left one… "I have to get to Hogwarts, same as you."

"But not _with me_. _The Prophet_ will have a field day, _"Muggle-born hero fearlessly rides with Death Eater_ "."

"Ex-Death Eater," she corrected calmly. _Always bloody correct._

"Ex-Death Eater." Draco agreed. He crossed his arms and leaned back. The witch still hadn't moved. "But really. You should go. Go sit with Potter's girlfriend or someone else."

"Why do you care where I sit?" She wasn't looking at him anymore. Her brown eyes seemed focus on the threstrals. They started to move, and once again he was stuck alone with Hermione Granger—Muggle-born hero. The most fucking famous Mudblood there ever was.

"I don't."

"Clearly you do or you wouldn't have asked me to move."

"Maybe I just don't want my face in the bloody paper again. It's been there enough."

"No, that isn't it."

"What's with you?" Draco lost his patience. His voice grew louder, causing Hermione to look in his direction. She seemed frozen, hand reaching towards her wand on her side, but Draco sniffed. "I'm not some fucking puzzle to figure out, Granger. I just want to go to class, get some sort of bloody qualifications, and leave this fucking place."

"Me too," she said it quickly, softly. Hermione let go of her wand and stared at him, truly stared. Those brown eyes were starting to scare the shit out of him. "They'll try and get me to enjoy it…Ginny and Luna and everyone. They'll want me to relax."

"That such a bad thing?" Draco turned to the window, breaking their eye contact. The castle was looming overhead, closer and closer. "Look, last time you were here, you didn't try to upheave the government and…" He paused. _Fuck it._ They were well past pleasantries. "…murder people. You're a hero. You should enjoy the spoils." He moved his long legs, perching them on the seat across from him and hoping he managed to mask whatever onslaught of emotions raged through his head. Jealousy was definitely one of them. Anger was there as well. He was so bloody angry about…he didn't even know anymore.

Voldemort not winning? _Fuck no._

Being some susceptible areshole?

Being a piece of bloody clay until the last bloody sec—

The carriage jerked, and he felt his body tip over, his back awkwardly hitting the floor as his legs still sat planted on the seat. "Fucking hell." The metal tinged at his spine, though his pride hurt more than whatever injury he sustained. He felt small hands on his upper arm, and Granger was dragging him up to a full standing position. Her touch felt warm and harsh, and he noticed the callouses on her hand from too much wand practice. Too much practice for dueling people like him.

He shrugged her off, still on the ground. The carriages were rolling to a stop, and Draco cringed. "I don't need your filthy hands helping me."

The witch stared at him for a while, glanced at her hands, and then pushed him solidly back to the metal floor. Hermione opened the carriage door and grabbed her things. "Thanks for the book, you massive prick."

.

.

 **September 2, 2017**

By telling herself it was either this or facing _the Prophet_ , Hermione managed to convince herself to Apparate without splinching. The wards were strong around the Manor, so strong that Hermione couldn't even _see_ the giant house from where she Apparated to. There were sheep. A lot of sheep and trees and green hills rolling in every direction. She wondered briefly how close she was to Stonehenge and then realized that the Malfoys were ancient and pure-blood so she was probably very close.

She had no real way of knowing where the Manor was without disabling the wards, which she could do. But learning that to be incredibly rude in wizarding etiquette, Hermione opted to send out a Patronus instead. She took a second to look around, first for any Muggles and then because she forgot how breathtaking Wiltshire could be. South London was her home, and although she loved the Muggle convenience of the Underground and take-away, she simply felt calm out here. The sky seemed bluer, open with specks of grey-white clouds. The grass was so tall that it tickled her ankles, and Hermione held back the small, girlish urge to fall into the weeds and flowers and just lay there.

Her stomach surged, and she rolled her eyes at forgetting her apple on her desk. With a quick, _Expecto Patronum_ , a silvery, playful otter came tumbling from her wand and into the abyss. She watched it in the bright light, the sun igniting bits of silver until the otter-shaped cloud suddenly vanished through an invisible shield. The shield shimmered briefly before crumbling, revealing a long, curved driveway lined with hedges and a wrought-iron gate towards the end. Hermione stuck her chin higher, thinking this would instill some more bravery in her, before she started walking on the gravel.

The driveway was unpaved. The hedges were neatly kept, and as she walked and looked at the grounds in the daylight, whatever sense of dread equally matched with a sense of how beautiful the home was. The drive was long and straightened out as the Manor came into view. Beyond the iron gate ahead, Hermione could see and hear a fountain trickling softly. She hated that it was so serene and perfect for a place that held such dreadful, damning memories.

It seemed surreal yet rightfully placed when Hermione caught sight of the large white peacock walking across the lands. Its feathers were curled in, un-flourished, and the giant bird took one look at her before it gave a great _squawk._

The unfurled plumage was magnificent and snow-white, towering around and crowning the peacock as it cawed again and took off towards Hermione. She jerked back, shock taking over. The last thing she expected was attacking _peafowl._ Her wand flicked at her wrist, and before she could think otherwise, a solid _Stupefy_ was launched squarely at the albino peacock's chest.

There was the soft _pop_ of Apparition as the bird collapsed to the ground. The darkly clad wizard who Apparated ignored Hermione and jogged towards the Stunned bird. He touched the thing lightly with his wand, inched back, and turned to the witch. "Did you just kill my bird, Granger?"

His blond hair was practically blinding in this much sunlight. Really, she had just been so accustomed to him in dark castles and British rain. Was he even allowed to go outside? Wouldn't that white skin of his just burn up from any contact with sun?

Hermione stiffened. "I did not _kill_ your bird."

He gave it a light kick. "So Stunned then. You Stunned him."

"I…yes, I Stunned him."

Malfoy smirked, leaving the peacock stunned on the ground, and walked towards her, hands and wand in his pockets. He was in black trousers and a black v-neck that looked as if it were washed too many times. The red outline of the Dark Mark scar was prominent, a burn against his almost translucent skin. "I suppose I deserve that."

She blinked. "You do? For what?"

His face fell, cheekbones lowering. "I don't know. Probably for something. I feel like I have a tab with you. Did Arthur Weasley send you instead?"

Looking at Draco Malfoy now, smug and pristine, she felt that saying she wanted to come would have been the absolute wrong decision. "I wanted to come." _Well, bollocks._

His eyebrows shot up, and she half-expected he would approach her (which he did), grab her hand (which he did), and kiss it (which he didn't). Draco laced his fingers within her own, and her stomach sloshed. She coughed before asking, "You cut your hair?"

The ponytail, or whatever he had yesterday, was gone and Draco had reverted back to his sleek, short look. He turned to her, grey eyes silver in the light. "I did. You clearly didn't."

She smiled and moved her fingers a bit in his hand. He was so warm, and as she slipped her fingers back in his own grip, she could feel the rough callouses and blisters from too much Quidditch. _Still?_ Her smile tinged harder and she gestured to his widow's peak. "At least I'm not losing my hair."

"I am not losing my hair. It's thinning. It's natural."

"I think there's a draught for that."

"There is but I don't need it because I am _not_ losing my hair." His cheeks were bright red, and his teeth shone as he smiled. As the daughter of two dentists, she always appreciated how healthy and straight his teeth looked. That couldn't always be said about wizards and Muggles alike. "You're being rather rude for someone who attempted to murder a man's peacock."

"I did not murder your peacock! Why do you even _have_ a peacock?"

His grip on her tightened. "How long do you think I should wait? There must be an innuendo some…"

She dropped his hand and walked in front of him, causing Draco to stop soundly in his black boots. Hermione crossed her arms. Her chest felt heavy, and for Merlin's sake she was feeling so incredibly guilty. "Draco, what are we doing?"

"Walking. Talking. Very normal stuff, 'mione. Why are you acting like…"

"Astoria? Ron?"

He blinked, grey eyes clouding. "My wife? Your husband? What of them?"

Hermione couldn't believe he was being so nonchalant. The sleek silver, blond hair. The head to toe black. The way he grabbed her hand, walking with her so, so slowly. As if he were being incredibly care…

God, she was so _stupid_. "There are wards here, aren't there?"

"Yes."

"And I suppose I need permission from a Malfoy to get in?"

"Yes. Though it's a bit trickier for you since you're…your parents weren't wizards. So give me your hand."

She wiped the sweat off first before gripping him again. His hold was looser this time, and she felt the pounding and pounding of her chest only increase from the embarrassment of it all. _Over a decade and you are both married._ Malfoy hadn't turned back to look at her, and as they came upon the gate, he dropped her hand briefly.

"This bit is gross." He took what seemed like a silver and emerald encrusted pin from his trousers' pocket. It was also, of course, shaped like a snake.

"Really, Draco?"

"Shh." He pricked his finger with the pin, and dark, rust colored blood dripped from his finger.

She fought the reaction to move back and away from the blood magic, but he soon was grabbing her palm with the unpricked hand. Taking the bloodied finger, Draco moved it gently over the deep lines in her palm, a red _M_ outlined when he was finished.

"For Malfoy. Get it?"

"I would laugh if this weren't so vile." Hermione flexed her hand. "Wait, no I wouldn't. You need a tetanus shot. And remind me to discuss blood magic regulations with you once this is done."

"Enough of that." He shooed her. "Soon you'll be with Potter and lackey and you can talk about how _dark_ my great grandfather's pocket watch is."

"Is it dark?" Hermione asked.

Draco only smiled and grabbed her hand. "And Astoria has already been on me about the gate. It's very inconvenient."

"Did the boys need to do this too?"

"No. They took the Floo and they wouldn't anyway. Only Muggle-borns." His grip on her tightened. The gate opened when he touched it. "Like I said, it'll be changed."

"I didn't think Astoria would care."

Draco slowed his pace. "Have you met Astoria?"

And with another extreme bout of guilt, Hermione realized no, she really hadn't.

* * *

A/N:

Thanks all :) reviews are like bread and butter, if bread and butter were carbless and made me write my pants off :P


	3. Sorting

**Chapter 3:** **Sorting**

 **September 1, 1998**

Much to the dismay of every other Hogwarts house, Slytherin still existed. Yes, he knew that Voldemort was a Slytherin. Yes, he understood that almost every single Death Eater came from Slytherin. Yes, he was _very_ aware there was still an ex-Death Eater (him) a part of the house. But as McGonagall's opening speech suggested, Salazar was an important part of this school. He was, to the majority's opinion, the looney bit that decided creating a chamber in the girl's bathroom with a giant snake was a terrific idea. Though McGonagall didn't say that—not verbatim at least.

Well, at least it kept things interesting.

Blaise was nodding off with his head on the Slytherin table, having smuggled too much firewhiskey on the Hogwarts Express according to Pansy. And also according to Pansy, she _totally_ _did not mind_ the red skull and snake scar on his left arm and that them together would be _such a nice reminder of better days_.

Draco calmly reminded her that they hadn't dated since they were 16, and even then he hadn't really liked her that much and, "Weren't you here last year? Didn't you already take your N.E.W.T.s?"

"Not all of them. And I…" She flushed, flustered, and reached for his hand. Draco rolled his eyes and reluctantly let her grab it. Some battles were worth losing. "I think I can do better this year, and last year didn't really _count_ did it?"

Blaise was still pissed. "Theo's N.E.W.T.s did."

"Oh shut up! You were here too."

"I didn't _take_ any N.E.W.T. classes." He shrugged before reaching for a glass of water. "Seemed pointless, all things considered."

"You mean if _he_ actually won?" Draco pushed the glass closer to him, removing his hand from Pansy in the process. This would be some hell of a year. He looked around the Great Hall. The Sorting had already finished, and the first half-blood boy who had been sorted into Slytherin nearly peed himself.

There were still no Muggle-borns in his house, and Draco sincerely thought about having a conversation with that dumb hat about its sorting prejudices and how it wasn't exactly helping the _Slytherin is evil_ theory.

The other tables, when not glaring daggers at him, seemed to be actually enjoying themselves. They gorged on the magic, reappearing food. It was a nice spread—roasted chicken, mashed sweet potatoes, baked beets, lamb coated with mint and yogurt. It was extravagant, and the perfect meal for the little students to ignore the "bad things" that happened here and just think _"Wow! Hogwarts is great!"_.

It didn't take long for Draco to notice that the glass window in the back was new, that the Great Hall, which had been obliterated during the battle, still smelled like burning and blood and bodies. No one around him seemed that impacted though. Everyone kept eating, and Draco fought back the blitz of bad memories. He mushed around the mashed potatoes on his plate and reached for his cup of water. It wouldn't be so hard to transfigure it to vodka, would it?

Pansy leaned on his right shoulder, and he felt his body tense. "I'm so glad you're here, Draco. I know you were enrolled last year but you were always so _busy_. How many classes did you actually _attend?_ "

That memory was a bit cloudy. "6? 7?"

"You never really spent any time with me."

He glowered at Blaise who was in a snoreless sleep across from him. He hated that boy for not sharing. "Sorry, Pans. I was a little busy with the evil plotting and all." His grey eyes shifted to all the younger years. Some acne-faced fourth year seemed to be taking notes. His continuing "relationship" with Pansy Parkinson would surely spread like fiendfyre. _Fan-fucking-tastic._ "Actually, I think I have to go fix another bit of furniture, so if you excuse me…."

"Have you a new profession as a carpenter, Draco Malfoy?"

Draco turned at the voice behind him, shoving Pansy indelicately off in the process. It was Loon— _Luna_ Lovegood, her bright blonde hair almost rivaling his own even in the dim candlelight. Normally, he would have thought that question to be sarcastic, but he, unfortunately, knew the crazy girl well enough to know better. "Can't say I have. Been busy."

"Shame." Luna looked thoughtful. _Crazy Ravenclaws._ "I have a nightstand that's too wobbly. A blibbering humdinger may have paid a visit to the Ravenclaw dorms over the summer. I have to tell the Headmistress to readjust the wards."

"Yes, do that." Draco Malfoy stood up and took another swig of the water-he-wished-were-vodka before going off to the bathroom or the dungeons or somewhere that wasn't next to Pansy.

Lovegood followed him. He could hear her little footsteps even under the loud voices in the Great Hall. Draco spun on his heel. "Is there something you wanted?" His eyes fell to her rather large, homemade necklace. "…Did you actually _drink_ all that Butterbeer?"

Luna gave a small smile. "Everyone wants something, but I'm just interested that you're here."

This girl was insufferable. She was looking at him, blue eyes too wide and thin. Loony always seemed to be walking through some haze and blabber nonsense whenever she spoke. She had, surprisingly, been a strong dueler, but even after the battle and the war, it was still hard for Draco to take her seriously. He shifted his feet, unclear how to handle this specific animal. Granger had asked him the same question on the train. It was getting old. "Why?"

"Well, I also wanted to know if you'd study with me. We're in a lot of the same classes. Hagrid said you're taking Highly Advanced Care of Magical Creatures."

"I'm not interested."

"You're smart. You'd be a good addition to the group," Luna said. It was uncanny, really, how she could say ten normal words and sound absolutely bonkers. It could have been the tone or the inflection or just the creepy way she was staring, but Draco felt uneasy. The girl could communicate a whole damn prophecy by saying _"My soup is hot."_

"I think I have to jump off a bridge first."

"Ah, looking for damperblimps? I'd suggest asking the merman in the Great Lake. They can be a bit testy, but they know where to look."

 _What the fuck is wrong with this witc—_

"Luna?"

He exhaled, relief flooding through him that someone competent was interrupting this… conversation. Never in his life did he think he'd be happy to hear Granger's voice or see that forest of hair behind him. She looked serious and anxious—her normal look really—and gave a soft smile to her friend. Granger had changed to her robes and tie, the deep red bringing out the pink in her cheeks and neck.

The blonde girl gave a slight wave. "Oh, hi Hermione. I haven't really seen you today. Have you been trying to fix humdinger-broken furniture too?"

Draco narrowed his eyes at Hermione's squirming and Luna's remark. He found it a bit odd that they hadn't seen or talked to each other the whole day. He had assumed Lovegood and Granger were best buddies, gal pals, or whatever the hell girls called themselves.

Hermione shrugged awkwardly, and Draco realized that the sly witch had been avoiding Loony Lovegood. _Interesting._ He never cared for the dynamics of his classmates, but there was something deeply satisfying about seeing a crack in Potter's wall of _friendship and goodness!_ Satiated with the sudden tension between the two girls, Draco continued to walk out of the Great Hall only to be stopped once again by Hermione's voice.

"Wait! Malfoy! I came to talk to you."

 _What the hell is going on today?_ He glanced around, thinking it had to be a mistake. The Muggle witch had avoided Lovegood but was seeking him out? "What, you want a study buddy too?"

Hermione openly cringed and even stuck out her tongue a bit. "Absolutely not! I don't do well in groups."

"Or public, but please go on."

She sniffed and crossed her arms, immediately offended. Draco felt his chest lighten, and she said, "The Headmistress wants to see us."

That lightness evaporated as instantaneously as it came. What could McGonagall possibly want with him? He had already met with her countless times over the summer in a rather sad attempt at being accepted back into the school. The old witch was no Legilimens, and Malfoy had to surrender a perfectly good (or bad…actually very bad) memory to a Pensieve in order to earn her thinnest form of trust. _She wants to kick me out, doesn't she?_

It started as just a bad thought and then spiraled to mild panic. Draco felt his face grow warm, and Hermione cocked her head to the side, staring at him with those dreadfully simple eyes. He was suddenly reminded of when he first met her. She had been trying to find this ridiculous toad with front teeth that were too big for even her mouth and hair that was wild and framed her face like a cloud. Her eyes were so murky with equally dark long lashes so different from his own. He remembered how quickly she spoke, a familiar sharpness and the light accent of a Londoner. He had loved London when he was a child—still did as a young adult—and he wanted to talk to her again and again to hear that lilt.

And then he remembered his heart sinking like a stone when she had announced _proudly_ that neither of her parents knew magic and what a surprise that owl and letter was.

And then Harry Perfect Potter wouldn't shake his bloody hand.

What a shit-arse day.

Hermione cleared her throat. Her eyelashes were still long, teeth now fitting nicely in her mouth. _Her parents are Muggle teeth medics, aren't they?_ Draco nearly gagged. How the fuck did he know that? "Malfoy, are you coming? McGonagall already left for her office."

Draco gratefully turned to look up to the balconies and saw that, yes, all the professors (excluding Slughorn) had already left. Prefects began the grueling task of leading the first years—and some forgetful second years—to the dormitories and explaining that yes, the whole changing staircase thing is annoying but _oh so charming, isn't it?_ Merlin, he had hated being a prefect.

He glanced back and saw a pouty Pansy stabbing Blaise with her wand. _That's it then._ "Fine, Granger. I have nothing better to do."

.

.

In retrospect, Draco could have found something better to do. Like, for example, hurl his head at a stone wall. Or get hit with a Quaffle. Hell, he'd let Granger punch him again, and by the frustrated, exhausted look on her face, it seemed that provoking her wouldn't be too hard.

McGonagall had gestured for them to sit as she pulled different books from the shelf. Draco had been to this office before, including several times last year when Snape held the post. It was certainly different now—brighter for one thing. Magical artefacts seemed to be left in plain sight whereas Snape hid everything under lock and key. Potions in cases. Books in drawers and behind sealed doors of glass. The room had been dark, only lit by candlelight and the eerie glow of the Pensieve.

Draco's throat itched. A wave of familiar guilt filled him as he looked up and saw the portrait of the man hanging proudly on the wall. _Why did you do it?_ The man with dark eyes and greasy black hair stared back. _Why did you even bother?_

The office now had a soft fire blazing, making the room orange and muggy. A ruby and gold sword sat in glass on the desk. ...And were those _cat figurines?_

Draco crossed his arms, uncomfortable and feeling incredibly out of place. He said as much.

"Mr. Malfoy, I can assure you there is a reason you are here. Try to keep calm and sit next to Ms. Granger."

He rather the old bat just get on with whatever scolding she had in store for him, whatever disparaging remark she intended to say. But the eyes behind the square glasses were unyielding, and Draco crashed into the leather chair next to the already seated Hermione.

"Now." McGonagall remained standing by her bookcase while the two students turned and stared at the witch. It was a power move which Draco unwillingly admired. "I…I have asked you here with some reluctance. These had been left in my office along with a note, and I believe they were meant for you two. It seems to be of significant importance and may affect you both greatly this year."

He grimaced. His whole goal of the year was to remain faceless. No extra bloody responsibilities. He was probably already banned from Quidditch, and if he couldn't do that… His eyes shifted to Granger, and he was surprised to see she had a disapproving look on her face. He had expected her to be anxious, to be jumping at the opportunity to kiss arse. But she just sat there, looking pale and…crushed.

McGonagall finally turned from the bookcase and walked behind her desk. There she placed two thick looking books. Draco turned to Hermione, hoping to silently communicate that their old professor had finally lost it.

But Hermione seemed to buy it. Those muddy eyes of hers widened, her mouth opening just a bit to exhale astonished breath before reaching for the reddish brown book with simple block text. He hadn't caught the title of the book she picked but instead looked back down to the remaining grey book.

It was a first year's Astronomy text, and Draco lamely picked the book up, deciding to play along for a bit. Hermione flipped through her own text absentmindedly before placing the book back on the desk, brows furrowing. "What did the note say, Professor?"

Draco leaned forward to read the title of the book she had stared at so astonishingly. _The Community Ecology of Otters._

…What?

McGonagall hesitated at the question. She pulled the brown book back to her before saying, "It alludes to the fact that you two may be able to help each other."

He felt his eyebrows shoot up and his back stiffen. What could _he_ possibly help perfect, Muggle-born hero Granger with? McGonagall turned through Hermione's book again, stopping at a page that was doggeared. It was the start of Chapter 7: _The Otter's Utilization of Tools and Advanced Memory Functionality_.

Oh.

There was that.

Draco crossed his arms. It was not exactly a skill he liked others to know about, and to say he was _reluctant_ to teach anyone, let alone Hermione Granger, would have been a gross understatement. "What if I don't want to teach her?"

McGongall closed the book. "I expect you don't."

"I don't want Malfoy teaching me anything either." Hermione tried her best to look defiant, but Draco thought it only made her look oddly tiny and childish. Her lips were curled and her arms were crossed, and there was this tinge of something both pleasant and unwelcome in his stomach. He snarled and sank deeper in his seat.

The Headmistress ignored her. "Mr. Malfoy?"

He looked up to her, the front tips of his hair falling away and tickling his forehead. The book creaked open, and he quickly turned to the doggeared page. It was a chapter on Ptolemy, and in the dead center of the page was a diagram of his namesake. He snorted. Dumbledore was about as clever as a pigeon.

"There's a note in yours," Hermione pointed but did not reach to grab it.

Draco picked up the folded piece of paper and moved to rip it.

"Mr. Malfoy, what do you think you're doing!" McGonagall was livid.

"I don't want her to teach me anything either."

Hermione whined and reached for the old piece of parchment. "It could be important if Dumbledore left it for us!"

"Oh, so you changed your mind then? You want me to teach you Occlumency?"

She froze, and her arms went back to her sides as her face looked white and stolid. Hermione swallowed, shoulders shaking a bit, hands moving through her mess of hair as if needing something to touch. "You think that's what it means?"

"I think Dumbledore could have written " _Draco Malfoy, please teach Ms. Granger Occlumency"_ , but I suppose…otter books get the message across just as well." He shook his head, suddenly wishing he had stayed with Pansy and listened to her critique of the first year Slytherin girls. "This is a waste of time. I'm not teaching bloody Granger how to do Occlumency, and I don't want her to teach me anything either. I just want to take my N.E.W.T.s and be off and on." He got up to move, hands pushing against the arms of the chair when he felt Granger grab the sleeve of his robes.

She was tugging on him harshly, and he moved to tear the fabric away from her before she spoke, "I'd like to know Occlumency." It wasn't harsh or whiny. It wasn't demanding or thin. Hermione took another breath. "I would…appreciate it very much."

Draco felt his back relax and more tickling strands of hair hit right above his grey eyes. He looked at her face, so pallid, the cheekbones seeming so pronounced in the firelight. There was that tinge again, and he _ripped_ the sleeve within her grip. "Get off me!"

He barreled out of the room, ignoring McGonagall's shouts and Hermione's release of frustrated air.

What was that even _about_? Why would Albus Dumbledore give a rat's arse if Granger knew Occlumency? And…why did she want to learn? What secrets did she need to hide?

"Malfoy! Wait!"

She was chasing him. Hermione Granger was actually chasing him down the hallway, no sound of annoyance or anger or hate in her voice. Draco turned out of the sheer weirdness of it all. The girl was holding her left arm in her hand, face down and almost embarrassed. She blinked. "You actually waited?"

"If I didn't, would you keep running?" A short pause. Draco realized he wasn't being very funny. "What do you want, Granger?"

She shrugged. "To learn Occlumency. I thought that obvious."

He let a laugh escape. She was a ridiculous, annoying girl. She was loud and unbearable, too brave and brash and smart for her own good. "I don't want to teach you."

"Don't you want to know whatever it is that note says?"

His lip curled. "No, I don't."

"What does yours say anyway?"

"I don't know." The parchment crumbled in his hands. "But it's not worth spending time with you to figure it out."

Her face tightened, but for once, Hermione held back her reactions. "Library. Tomorrow after dinner?" She phrased it as a question but didn't wait for Draco to respond. Though he swore he saw a slight smile when she walked away.

* * *

A/N:

Thank you all for reading :) I'll try to update faster but motivation always helps!


	4. Dangerous Places

**Chapter 4:** **Dangerous Places**

 **September 2, 2017**

He hated seeing her in his house, which was quite the unexpected thought. He couldn't count the times when he tried to picture her here—running through scenario after scenario of getting her back here, of walking her around the grounds, of introducing the most famous Muggle-born to his parents as his…

Draco pinched his nose. He had been such an _idiot._

Hermione looked tense, though no more than usual, which probably meant she was trying very, very hard to not be tense. Draco bit back the urge to place a hand on her shoulder. The hand holding had been enough of a memory for today, and he had no desire to relive any more.

 _Liar._ He scowled.

"Draco, where's Ron and Harry?"

"Potter's in my dad's old office."

"And Ron?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Why would I know where your husband is?"

"Because he arrived at your house this morning?" Hermione said more than asked, clearly frustrated. A hand went to her stomach, but she shook the thought off. "Arthur didn't really brief me on the difficulty or number of items that need to be confiscated."

"And if I tell you the number is zero?"

"I won't believe you." She briefly smiled and then pointed a finger down the hall. "The office is…"

"I'll lead you. Do you want tea? Toast?" His voice sounded thin and fake, like he was treating her as some ordinary houseguest. _Which she is. She is._

Hermione shook her head but her hand was still on her stomach. His eyes flickered down before leading her through the halls, purposely avoiding the drawing room or stairway to the cellar. The whole place had been repainted ten years ago. He had thrown out couches and ottomans, ordered a new mantle, and had the lighting changed (though much to his chagrin, Astoria was a little too fond of crystal chandeliers). It had been expensive as hell but did nothing to bleach the memory from his mind.

"I'm okay, you know."

He hadn't asked. He hadn't bloody asked if she were okay. Draco kept walking, eyes on the white printed wallpaper and dark grey beadboard paneling. Sconces hung every couple of feet but he knew it was still a dark place, a dark memory for this woman.

"It's been a decade, Draco."

"More than that."

"I feel like you're walking me around in circles."

"I'm not." He turned and she almost slammed into him. Had she really been that close? They were inches apart, the top of her hair almost in his eyes. He looked at those eyes and could see the bits of gold, the small specks of red, and he thought again how much of a bloody Gryffindor she was. Draco immediately pulled away and continued walking, ignoring her breath and smell and _everything_. "Arthur Weasley should be here."

Hermione's voice was firm, strong. "I don't mind being here."

"Well I do."

"Draco, you can't _say_ that sort of thing." Hermione had stopped walking, the small heels of her shoes no longer clack clack clacking on the dark cherry floor.

He sighed before running his hand across his hair, thick and dry with gel. Draco winced at the feeling. The tightness in his chest was only building and he rubbed his eyes. He was tired and exhausted from the bloody Aurors that showed up on his doorstep at 8 o'clock. Astoria had been concerned all night, doubly concerned when she remembered that Scorpius had his first day of Hogwarts and what if Slytherin prejudices still existed?

They did, though not as strongly as when they were students, and thank Merlin the post arrived with a letter from their son saying he was having a great time and even made a friend on the train named Albus. _Bugger that_.

Needless to say that Draco hadn't slept well either.

He didn't need her here, an added worry, an added…complication. And he told her that honestly. "I don't like seeing you here. I didn't then, and I don't now." _All I see is you bleeding on the floor. All I see is my fucking aunt cursing you and me just…just watching._

"Draco…" Hermione touched him and he swore it hurt.

"This isn't bloody right, 'Mione." He didn't shrug her off. "I…I haven't seen you in so long. We haven't…". Damn, he was mussing it all up. Why couldn't he even think coherently? His shoulders had relaxed down when she started moving her hand, rubbing her palm in soft, small circles on the curve of his back. Draco hadn't even realized they were tense. "We haven't had a decent conversation in years, and I really hate that the first one we're having is in this place."

"This is your home." Hermione placed her other hand on him. Her chest was heaving, tugging the buttons of her light blue blouse apart, and Draco swallowed. He tried to keep his contact up as she spoke. "I'd like to see it."

 _What?_ "No."

"I think it would help."

"No, Hermione." He broke from her hold and turned. "I'm not taking you to the drawing room."

"Why would you?"

A third voice spoke, one that was definitely a woman and most certainly his wife. Draco raised his eyes to the hall in front of him, seeing Astoria in mint green robes, her dark hair fastened in a loose but smooth bun. She was wearing her emerald ring—a long standing Malfoy heirloom begrudgingly given to her by his mother—and that was the hand she chose to hold out to Hermione. The frizzy-haired witch took the paler hand and firmly shook it. Astoria smiled. "Ms. Granger, the Aurors are in the office, not the drawing room. Draco and I will take you." She looped an arm within his and led her husband back to the office and the Aurors.

Potter and Longbottom were hunched over one of many of his ancestor's book of runes. It was taking them a while to translate the cover. Entirely _too_ long as it appeared to be the same book they were staring at when he originally apparated to get Hermione. He was hoping the witch, who had passed Advanced Runes with him, would be a helpful addition and if anything, get them out of his house faster.

If Hermione had been flustered by Astoria's appearance at all, she certainly didn't show it. She looked briefly around the room, noticing the dark curtains that had been pulled away. There were floor-to- ceiling paned windows banking the fireplace behind the almost black wood of the large desk. Two green candles stood on the mantle, sitting in silver, tall candlestick holders. A square old mirror stood between them. Draco kissed his wife on the cheek and moved from her rather tight hold. He grabbed the candles from the fireplace and tossed them to Potter, who, of course, caught them both.

" _Morsmodre_ candles." Draco answered their blank stares. "The skull is on the bottom. Burn them completely and the dark mark goes into the sky. Handy if you lose a wand."

"Experience?" Potter asked in a not completely threatening way.

Draco was amused, wondering if he had received a similar letter from Albus talking about his new best friend who just so happened to be a Malfoy. "Assumption. Astoria, there's another box of books in the library that would probably be of interest. Could you get it?"

His wife smiled and placed a long, cool kiss near his temple. Longbottom and Potter watched her as she left. Hermione just looked at Longbottom. "Where is Ron?"

"Ron?" Potter was the one who answered. He stood from his crouching position on the floor, tossing the seemingly untranslatable rune book to Longbottom, and gave her a quick hug. "Unsure but I wasn't expecting you to be here! Arthur sent you instead?"

The witch nodded. "Yes, but…" She shook her head. "Ron said he was coming here."

"He told me he couldn't a few days ago. Said he had another appointment. Neville was nice enough to come down from Hogwarts for a bit."

"I need to head back tomorrow." Longbottom was crossed legged, his face almost completely planted in the book. "And your sons...weird that they look just like the both of you but act completely different. I actually look forward to my Slytherin herbology class this year."

Draco wanted to rebut but figured he would get nowhere in a room with three Gryffindors. Instead, he grabbed the book from Longbottom's hands and gave it to Hermione. "Will you please tell these… _professionals_ that this book is not some dark magic grimoire? That, even though I'm sure Nicholaus Malfoy was an arse, this is nothing more than an extensive catalogue of pie recipes?"

Her eyes seemed distant, but at his insistence, Hermione took the book and read the runes for a few minutes. Nodding her head, the witch adjusted her skirt and kneeled. "So, Neville…how many confiscations do we currently have?"

"Well only three so far but there's still…"

Draco dropped his attention and moved to the small cattycornered bar on the left side of the desk. A tall glass bottle of fire whisky was dead center, upside down tumblers circling the brown liquor. Draco pulled the top off the fire whiskey and grabbed a tumbler. Blowing bits of dust off, he poured for one, two, three, four seconds and took a large sip. Potter turned to him, green eyes dull behind those crooked glasses. He then looked to Hermione, and Draco could see the worry.

 _Where the hell is Weasley?_

"Want one Potter?"

Harry looked at the glass and then the bottle, clearly tempted, but shook his head. "I'm not really supposed to drink on the job."

"Ah, well." Draco took a long, hard swig. "More for me then."

.

.

.

 **September 2, 1998**

The library had less books now. The restricted section was no longer there, and anything that could be somewhat tied to dark magic had been removed. The shelves were newly dusted. The spines had been all aligned and alphabetized and looked over with a fine tooth comb. But even though it was different and nowhere near as musty, Hermione felt an overarching calm as she entered. Books had always been her…everything. They were the reason why she was who she was—why her marks were so good, why she was so clever, why she wasn't some silly nit who literally beat others with sticks while riding _different_ sticks in midair.

Madam Pince stared at Hermione from her desk, probably because she was the only student who attempted to go to the library on the first day of classes. Or more likely because she was here but not studying at her normal corner table. Hermione patiently stood by the entrance, a large piece of parchment firmly set on top of the five library books she thought looked interesting as she waited.

She could barely eat at breakfast at the thought of what this training could possibly be like. Occlumency was notoriously difficult; even the strongest, most powerful wizards failed to master the skill. And maybe it was because she had been trying to wrap her head around how someone like Malfoy could do it, but she had felt positively perturbed when Ginny, all happy and flushed from an early, self-imposed Quidditch practice, asked her if she had made any of her study outlines yet.

Hermione had told her that even she had it was no business of hers and went back to eating her eggs.

Thinking back, Hermione had been in a rather pissy mood. Yes, she _hated_ when Ron and Harry would steal her notes and use her papers as references for their own. And although she yelled at them for it, she was never truly bothered like she was with Ginny. It was like she didn't want to see people, that everyone around here became suddenly annoying. Asking her for notes and to help absurdly terrible boys, when really all she wanted was to keep her head down and maybe help McGonagall with some broken picture frames.

It was the real first day, and she felt quiet and insular and was worried it would carry on. The only real time she spoke was during class because it was absolutely outrageous no one knew the proper way to transfigure a marble into a fire pit. And even after that she felt exhausted, like she was pushing and pushing on a car that wouldn't move. Her muscles felt weak, her brain fried, and it had literally only been the first day of classes. _Stop it. You're Hermione Granger, brightest witch of her age._

It didn't help that everyone was always whispering and pointing at her with excited glee. Or that the first years would follow her or poke her gently with a wand to see if she were real and actually here. It happened a few times in the past—being best friends with the Boy Who Lived would do that to anyone—but she had never felt such positive attention so focused on her before. She thought of what Draco had told her on the train, that she was the hero and should _bask_ in this. But she couldn't help but just resent it all.

Madam Pince was still staring at her, and Hermione looked through the glass window of the door to the library and down the hall. _Where is Malfoy?_ Sure, he had never actually agreed on coming, but Hermione thought she could see his curiosity when she had approached him in the hall yesterday.

She had purposely taken her time eating, and when she had looked over to the Slytherin table, he seemed to be done with his own food and flirting with Pansy Parkinson. Hermione rolled her eyes. _If he's standing me up for a shag, I'll…_

Blond hair caught her eye and she backed away from the door, fuddling with the books in her hands and making sure she didn't drop the parchment with her notes. Draco Malfoy soon opened the heavy wooden door. His hair was a bit out of place and that miffed her. "You're late."

Malfoy took a sweeping glance of the library "What happened to all the…"

"You're late, Malfoy."

"I'm not late. How can I be late when you never gave a time? You're lucky I'm here at all."

Hermione bit her lip. "You can still dawdle after dinner. You must have seen that I left."

His grey eyes were metal, piercing. Hermione felt cold when he looked at her, and it was then she realized that she had never spent time alone with him before. She always had Harry and Ron beside her, and he always had Crabbe and Goyle. But now it was just the two of them, and her chest tinged realizing how grateful she was Harry and Ron were both alive.

"I don't keep tabs on you, Granger." He touched his hair and noticed a bit was out of place. Draco tried to massage it back in line with the rest of his head, and Hermione couldn't help but roll her eyes. _Vain little git._ Malfoy continued, "But I'm sorry."

 _What?_ "What?"

"I'm sorry? What? Never heard an apology before?"

She was about ready to drop dead. "Not from you. I didn't think…"

"Pansy has this inane idea that we're still dating." Malfoy gave up on his messed up hair and took a harder look at her. "You do realize class has just started _today_ , right? What are you doing with so many books?"

"They're not for class." She moved again to rebalance, trying to get over the blunt blow that Draco Malfoy had just apologized to her and treated her with an ounce of humanity. It was galling, earth shaking, and Hermione bit back the urge to praise him like a little boy who remembered his manners.

He shook his head. "Well, what you're doing is completely brainless." _And he's back._ But before Hermione could argue, Malfoy drew his wand and cast a wordless _Wingardium Leviosa._ Her books were floating from her hands, and with another flick, they moved in a neat, stacked pile towards Malfoy's side. The parchment Hermione kept folded in her palms. She slipped it in her pocket before Draco continued, "Really with all the studying you do, I thought you'd know better."

"There's a nicer way to go about it, you know." Hermione's arms sank in relief. "You don't always have to be such a massive prick about things."

His mouth curved up. "But then I wouldn't get to see the annoyed look on your face."

"You want my face to look even uglier?"

That froze him. Malfoy's wand dipped, and the spell almost broke. The blond boy caught himself. "Granger, where do you want your stupid books?"

Hermione crossed her arms, feeling a bit smug that she managed to faze him. "Nowhere here. Follow me." She opened the door for her books, and him, she supposed. "I hope you're good at charms."

He growled a curse under his breath and followed her out, still levitating all of her books. Hermione turned back to get a look at his face, pointed and serious. His grey eyes kept the books meticulously in place, never slipping or sliding and always hovering about a meter above the ground. A misplaced warmness hummed in her chest.

"I'm mildly enjoying this."

"Granger." He was less than pleased. "You said to meet in the library and now we're walking to Merlin knows where." She could hear the exasperated sigh. "What is going on in that Muggle brain of yours?"

"Muggle things like grocery shopping and auto repairs," Hermione said flippantly but paused when her books stopped following. "Malfoy…"

" _Repairs_?" He looked gobsmacked, eyes wide and confused. "You mean to say that those monstrous metal automobiles actually break down? What the hell is the point of that?"

For the second time in an hour, Malfoy managed to render her practically speechless. Thoughts were buzzing in and out so quickly that Hermione had to finally settle on one and hope it got her confusion across. "…you know about cars?"

"What the bloody hell is a _car_?"

"Autos then." She blinked at him. "You've heard of automobiles?"

"In Muggle Studies."

Her jaw certainly dropped. It must have. She could feel the dust settle in her mouth. Arsehole, pureblood purist _Draco Malfoy_ was taking _Muggle Studies_? There must have been some gargantuan mistake. "This year? You're taking it this year? You know what that class is about, don't you?"

He noticeably flinched. "I have some idea."

"It's about people who can't do magic. People like my parents. People like _me_ for the first eleven years of my life."

"I realize, Granger."

"Why the fuck are you taking _Muggle Studies_?"

Whatever scowl he had morphed to a slight grin. Malfoy straightened his back, smirking and holding in what seemed to be a chuckle. He looked at her curiously. "Granger, did you just curse?"

" _That's_ what you're focused on? I curse! Of course I curse! Muggle-borns curse! Death Eaters don't take _Muggle Studies!"_

"WILL YOU KEEP IT DOWN!"

Both students turned around at the voice, the deep, gruff tone reverberating across the otherwise empty halls. Hermione's brown eyes spotted the owner of the voice, a rather large portrait of a seated man dressed in medieval wizard robes. The painted man huffed. "Some of us need to wake up early tomorrow."

"Sorry." Hermione shook her head, surprised by herself, and continued to walk down the hall. Draco had cast the levitation spell and was soon following her again. When they made another turn, Hermione heard his voice, strangely quieter than before, against the stone.

"Ex-Death Eater."

It took her a moment to realize why he was saying that. _Bugger._ "Yes." Her voice echoed. It sounded low, shameful. Hermione felt unreasonably terrible. "Sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"It's why I'm taking it though." His footsteps padded behind her, hard and even on the cobbled floors. "Because of—Granger, stop."

"Malfoy, we're almost there. Just…"

"No." He hissed, and then she heard her books collide with the floor, leather and stone smashing and even a solid _rip_ of a badly fallen page.

Hermione immediately went to her books' rescue, on her knees and trying to fit some of the pages back to the spines. These were _old_ books, classic wizarding literature, and Draco had just left them broken. She looked at him, all red and stern and still, but that didn't bother her in the least. "What is your problem?"

"Me? _My_ problem? You're bloody ridiculous to think I would go there!"

Hermione glanced around but there appeared to be no more portraits that would shout at them. "These books are priceless."

"These books are in every five-year-old wizard's home!" He grabbed at his hair. His chest heaved and heaved and Malfoy began pacing.

Hermione didn't know what to do. She was still on the ground, all the books now fixed, but the boy in front of her had gone absolutely bonkers. And Hermione knew it was her fault. "Fine, Malfoy. We can go back to the library. I just thought…"

"What that I wouldn't remember what I had to do in there? Who _died_ there?" He sneered, "Fuck off, Hermione." before walking away.

And for the first time in maybe ever, Hermione didn't feel anger or annoyance or pity towards Draco. She just felt miserable.


	5. A Beast

**Chapter 5: A Beast**

 **September 3, 1998**

She didn't mean it. He knew that. Of course he did. That girl was good and smart and nearly perfect despite her blood and hair, and she would never call him a Death-Eater to hurt him. And even if she did mean it, he shouldn't have given a shit about it.

But-bizarrely-he did. He felt the pang of something sharp in his chest, that weird itching feeling of guilt. Draco had felt the coldness sweep through his cheeks and heart, and he felt like gagging on the floor. _I'm a Death Eater._

He sat in a tufted leather chair in the Slytherin common room, the dungeon lighting seeming even more positively dim. Blaise was still talking to some friends in the other corner of the room, relaxing in front of the fire with a smuggled bottle of wine. Draco sank into the seat, exhausted.

He rolled up the sleeves of his robe and jumper to see the red lines. On his snow-white skin, the dark mark was a stain. It was hideous and disgusting. It was blood colored and glaring. It was fucking _permanent_ which was the absolute worst thing.

Draco still felt it, not to the same degree he once did as a young teenager, but the prejudice was still there. He recognized it as such, had since he was fourteen and saw Granger looking anything but dirty at the Yule Ball. And then again when he was fifteen and, instead of getting pissed every weekend at Hogsmeade, marched around listening to some cat-obsessed witch.

What a monumental waste of time

He blamed his parents a lot for it. He was raised to feel entirely too much shame and to be incredibly dutiful to those he was told to respect. Dumbledore was never one of those people. _Mudbloods_ were definitely not even considered to be full people, and he had let himself be molded and morphed into some pathetic follower over things he wasn't entirely sure he believed in.

 _Be a good student, Draco. Use the fork from the left, Draco. Kill Albus fucking Dumbledore, Draco._

He couldn't kill Dumbledore and he couldn't let Potter be killed. He couldn't fucking _stand_ that monster in his house but he had to always remember that at one point, he let it all happen. Draco had offered his left arm and waited to be branded.

During his sixth year, his head had been empty. He couldn't be a prefect. He couldn't get good marks in his classes. He couldn't play Quidditch. He couldn't do _shit_ but dark things. He was in constant panic mode, wondering when Rosmerta would break or if Katie would die or what if Dumbledore were some terrific fucking Legilimens?

And then seventh year…

Being an Occlumens had its great benefits. For one thing, he didn't have to remember anything he didn't want to. He could push and shove and bury any memory so deep that he could almost forget it completely. He could forge and manipulate any thought into a fake memory, something beautiful and shining and nothing like the original, twisted thing. Sometimes he thinks about his father never going to Azakaban, and he never getting branded to take Lucius' place. Sometimes he thinks of his family disavowing Voldemort altogether and moving to some small house in Nice. And then other times he thinks of his family not being his family at all, of being born far, far away from the Sacred 28 and how easy that would have been.

 _What if I were born a Muggle?_

He tried to picture it, to frame any sort of memory of being ten and in the Muggle world, but he couldn't. All he could picture were automobiles that suddenly stopped working and Granger sitting next to him in Muggle jeans and still being a total snot.

Fuck, did he need to apologize again?

So maybe he shouldn't have told her to fuck off, but she was out of her mind if she thought it was a good idea to go back to the Room of Requirement. For one thing, he was quite certain the room was wrecked. The place was probably still all smoke and ash and debris. It was a bombsite, a disaster area, and that was only visually. Did he also have to explain to her that his good friend _died_ there? That he had spent hours and hours and hours helping Death Eaters in that room?

"Draco?"

Furiously pushing his sleeve down, Draco flinched back on the leather arm chair, legs upright on an ottoman across from him. He sat in a small corner, the light of the moon barely reflecting through the window of the Great Lake. It was hard to read in the corner, but Draco kept the book cover firmly on his lap, never lifting to show the title of _Muggles and Their World._

Their world.

That sounded strange.

"…Mate, you okay?"

Blaise was staring at him, dark eyes narrowing, arms folded across his robes. His friend had been questioning him throughout the day. Draco had been suspiciously silent. He didn't raise his hand in class, even when some pathetic Ravenclaw told Slughorn that they should be using rosemary instead of anise. _Idiot._ Or when Granger had used that snot-faced demeaning tone of hers to correct him.

"Hogwarts is shit."

"Not news."

"Why did I come back here?"

"So you have a shot at functioning in the real world? Because your father put all his eggs in the Voldemort basket?"

Draco suddenly had the lovely image of the Dark Lord prancing around in a pink bonnet. "McGonagall wants me to teach Granger."

His friend snickered, flat out laughed. Blaise held his sides, ribs aching, and finally managed to sputter, "What could you possibly teach her?"

"She's the new Seeker on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. What do you _bloody think_ I'm teaching her?"

The laughing stopped. Blaise looked around the room, pushing Draco's long legs off the ottoman and sitting down across from his friend. There weren't many students in the common room, most already retreating to their rooms this time of night or fallen asleep on the firm leather couches. A fish swimming outside cast a shadow on the rug. "You mean to be an Occlumens?"

Draco shrugged. Blaise knew. He had told him. It was hard to explain why he was back at Hogwarts and not going crazy. Or how the hell he was able to disarm Dumbledore and become the defacto master of the Elder Wand when he was sixteen. And the fact that he could just pop all that behind this wall of nothing was a fair enough explanation for his friend. "Yes."

"Are you even a Legilimens?"

"Kind of have to be to know how to fight against it." He made a gesture with his hands. "Very rectangle-square."

"Nerd."

Draco shrugged. "You're an idiot if you don't know that. That doesn't count."

"Maybe you and Granger will actually get along."

The blond huffed and covered his textbook with his hands. He was on some bizarre section concerning Muggle schooling, and how most Muggle children go to Primary when they are as little as _four_. Though there were private tutors and the like, they mostly went unused in favor of actual schools. Amazing how Granger, who had been socialized so early, could still be such a twit. "I told her to fuck off."

"I'm sure she deserves it."

 _Maybe_. Draco rubbed his eyes, feigning disinterest, wanting to ask Blaise how he would ever go about apologizing to her. He pictured that stupid note in his pocket, recognized the script clear as day.

 _Hell is self._

 _Hell is self._

He could get lost in his own wall of mazes. "I could teach her Potions. I have the best marks in that class even though Slughorn didn't ask me to be a part of the Slug Club again this year."

"Oh really? Draco Malfoy—son of accused Death Eater—Death Eater _himself_ wasn't asked?"

Draco snapped the book closed, cover down. "You know what Blaise? You're a bloody arsehole."

His friend had the nerve to rub his hair, blond strands falling down on his forehead from the force. "I feel the same, Draco. I feel the same."

.

.

 **September 2, 2017**

Her husband had lied to her. That was the only thing on her mind as she sifted through objects and books, marking some but dismissing most as some creepy, dark heirloom that the Malfoys had for God knows how long. She expected Draco to stay with them in the room, watch over their every move, but he didn't. As soon as Astoria came back with a small stack of books, the blond left, glass of alcohol still in his hand.

Hermione leaned next to Harry, speeding up his runes translations and then deciding that books weren't really his thing and that he should move on to jewelry. Astoria lingered, a tall, silent presence in the room. Though Hermione had not been friends with Daphne and certainly not her little sister, she remembered her briefly from her and Draco's wedding day and she had been nice enough that day on the platform. She had been beautiful in some ancient, Malfoy gown, a fat diamond on one finger and an encrusted emerald one on another. She had been gorgeous and regal and oh so _pureblood_ that Hermione had the painful thought that she was perfect for Draco. Astoria didn't remind him of his past. She didn't knock him in the head when she was thirteen or spy on him when she was twelve. She didn't hate him for six years.

 _But did she love him?_

Hermione's vision was blurring over the book she was reading, and she found herself breathing deeply. When she had looked at Astoria Malfoy in the hallway, her arm wrapped around Draco…she supposed she saw love. It was different from…well, wasn't everything just different from that?"

"Hermione?"

"Yes? Oh, Harry. That's just a snuffer. I don't sense anything dangerous about _that_."

Harry edged his glasses up the brim of his nose, green eyes catching her. "I'm sure it's nothing. He just had an appointment. I'm sure he's dying to tell you all about it."

"If he was dying to tell me, he should have told me, Harry." Hermione didn't want to talk about it, especially with Astoria watching her and seeming to clear her throat every thirty seconds. "Neville, how is Rose? I know it's only been a day but…"

"She's smart and rather…passionate about that." Neville didn't look up. There was a dark green ivy plant in the corner that he seemed rather curious about.

Harry grinned, "Remind you of someone, Hermione?"

"Popular too." Neville jabbed the ivy with a quill, a green tendril quickly snapping it from his grasp. "Galanthas Nivalis. Interesting."

"So not like Hermione."

She jabbed her friend with her elbow. "That's good to hear. I'm glad she's getting along."

"Scorpius too?"

All three friends looked up and turned to Astoria, dark eyes looking at them all. Her face showed no real expression except curiosity, and Mrs. Malfoy wrung her hands together. "Have you seen him?"

"He's hard to miss." Neville retreated from the plant and gave Astoria a broad smile, "He looks exactly like your husband but his personality is certainly different from what I remember."

"That's probably good." Mrs. Malfoy gave a small laugh before inhaling deeply, hands moving to her chest. She rubbed and rubbed over her collarbone with big whooping breaths, sounding strangled and forced. The noise was terrible, alarming, and Hermione moved up from the floor and grabbed her hand.

"Sit down. You look pale." _What's happening?_ She felt Astoria's weight shift onto her, and she led the younger woman to a chair. Astoria collapsed down, shaking her head at Hermione's attempts to try and figure out what was going on.

Draco came in seconds later, a plate of muffins in his hands. He dropped the tray with a clamor and sped up to his wife to kneel in front of her. "Astoria, calm down. Relax." He touched her hair and fuddled around for a small vial of green liquid in his pocket. "Here you go, love. Please…"

She shakenly grabbed the bottle as Hermione stared on, flabbergasted and confused and feeling so incredibly raw. Draco's eyes were a light grey, pupils wide and so, so black. His own face matched Astoria's in paleness, and he held his breath as his wife swallowed the potion, lips relaxing when her breathing settled.

"Good, that's good." He leaned in and kissed her forehead. "Go nap."

It wasn't a question. Draco's voice was hard and serious, and Astoria simply nodded before retreating from the library and to their bedroom. Hermione relaxed her shoulders, the confusion still turning and turning. She looked at Harry and Neville who seemed equally flustered, and then to the crumble of muffins on the floor. Her stomach unwillingly grumbled loudly.

"I brought them for you." Draco kicked a bit of them on the floor. "I can get you more."

"Don't. I'm okay." She glanced to Neville and Harry, both of them so still and silent. "You should go to your wife."

His eyebrow arched. "She needs to rest. She'll be okay. I can get you more muffins."

"No…" She started but he was already turning to leave. "Wait! I'll come."

Draco shrugged and walked out the library, not waiting for her. His footsteps were loud as he walked, and Hermione had the strange urge to ask him why he was wearing black boots in his own house. She looked at her own short heels and just continued to follow him.

She had a lot of questions on her mind, mostly focused on Astoria and what had happened, but there were a few others about their relationship and how they even started it, but she couldn't dare ask that.

"It's a long story." Draco muttered, unprompted and without stopping his march down the hall.

Hermione felt herself flinch, and she suddenly remembered his ability as a Legilimens. The blush was unstoppable. "What is?"

"Astoria. She'll be fine, but don't ask about it, okay?"

"I wasn't…"

"You're dying to. Look, I don't ask about you and Weasely's business. Just…"

"I _wasn't_." Her voice was harsher. "And would you even have to ask?"

This had Draco stopping. His back straightened and she saw his hands grip and flex. "I won't ask you what that was supposed to bloody mean." Draco looked over his shoulder. "Don't ever insinuate that I'm using Legilimency on you."

"You've done it before."

"We were _eighteen_."

"Nineteen." She corrected. "I turned nineteen that year."

"Who the fuck cares? We were eighteen or nineteen and dumb." Draco spat. "We were _dumb_ and why are you bringing that up at all! It's stupid to think about, absolutely…."

"Draco." She called as he spun towards her. His hands were full fists now and his face was completely red. He hadn't moved from his spot a few meters ahead of her, but his body was shaking. Hermione exhaled. "I didn't say anything about that. And I…I never thought we were that dumb."

A pause. Another breath. Draco stared at her blankly and smirked when her stomach started off again. "Between the hair and that noise, you really are a beast."

She smiled, immediately grateful he opted to lighten the mood instead of meeting it head on like she thought he would. Like she dared him to. Hermione swallowed as their eyes met, feeling hot and absolutely ridiculous especially since his _wife_ almost passed out minutes ago. "Many would say my demeanor adds to it too, Malfoy."

"I don't disagree." The blond turned around and began walking again. "I have other things besides muffins. Cucumber sandwiches for one. I can get something ridiculously Muggleish like pizza or curry or what have you, Granger." Another pause. "It is still Granger, right?"

"It's always been Hermione." Her grin grew at his sudden awkwardness over her last name. He should have known. She was almost positive he _did_ know she kept her name, but she allowed the question. "Granger it is. I'm much too famous to change my name."

He chuckled shortly at her joke, that short, real chuckle that made her heart twist. They were at the kitchen door, and Draco leaned on it with his left shoulder, facing her. His bottom lip curved into his mouth, and she recognized it as him being hesitant. She called him out on it, "Well?"

"Would you have…if…"

"Yes." She answered, not understanding why she was okay with the question or why she knew the answer right away. "I still would have kept it."

"I don't believe in hyphenations. My mother would have fainted."

That wouldn't have been the reason, and Draco knew it. She stared at him for a while, catching those sharp grey eyes again before nodding her head. "Good riddance then."

"Yes." He leaned heavily and the door swung open. "Good riddance."


	6. Legilimens

A/N:

This is a longer one... Special thanks to reviewer _Jnr_ for their super nice review!

* * *

 **Chapter 6: Legilimens**

 **September 10, 2017**

She had filed a report on the Malfoy Manor. In total, 23 objects had been taken away, deemed especially dangerous and filled with dark magic. Luckily, Draco was the one who had handed over those artefacts, and as a part of his agreement with the Ministry, would not face any charges for their possession.

It had been over a week and she waited for her husband to say something, at least acknowledge the fact that he had blatantly lied to her about not going to Wiltshire and going to…wherever he was.

There was the brief, incredibly wrong thought that Ron Weasley was cheating on her. For an average couple, it seemed a reasonable solution for the problem—of him lying about his location and failing to explain why or tell the truth. But this was _Ron Weasley_. She had known him since they were eleven, and although they fought and disagreed about nearly anything and everything, he loved her and she loved him.

"I'm thinking about joining Hugo's PTA." She stared at her hair briefly and shifted her eyes to her finger, the bright sheen of her diamond ring catching her attention. Mornings seemed to be the only time they really talked to each other. They were both dead from work when they got home, and Hugo really required the majority of their attention. Ron was also pretty dead to the world in the morning, but she managed to get some conversation out of him usually. "They meet once a month on a Tuesday. I should be able to…"

"PTA?" Ron yawned and moved from his position on the bed to stand next to her, dropping a kiss on her cheek.

"Parent Teacher Association. Do you want to come?"

"At Hugo's school?" He wiggled his nose. "Is this anything like the Hogwarts Board of Governors?"

Hermione was only familiar with that committee from _Hogwarts: A History_ and the brief incident of Draco and Buckbeak's…fallout. Her lips jerked into a giggle at how ridiculous he had been, how cowardly and whiny and completely unlike the Draco Malfoy of her last memories. They settled back down when Ron looked at her oddly, and Hermione cleared her throat. "It's not. It's much more…democratic."

"Hm, definitely not the Board of Governors then. So I'm assuming life and death decisions are to be made by this PTA thing?"

She smiled, "The first meeting is about whether we want to serve apples or carrots during lunches."

"Life or death it is then. Tuesday you said?"

"Yes, at half past six."

Ron hunched his shoulders, and his face suddenly looked squished. "I can't."

She wanted to ask why. As an Auror, unless he was out on raids or confiscation, he could leave the Ministry at 6. So she asked, "Do you have raids or confiscation on Tuesday?"

He didn't. Hermione saw it immediately. His blue eyes dilated and he was looking all around the room except at her. "I have a meeting."

To his credit, he didn't lie, and to his obvious surprise, she didn't question it more. There was that stone again, in her throat and chest. Her mind felt dizzy, wild, and Hermione edged towards the door, feeling entirely too awkward. "I'll let you know how it goes then."

.

.

 **September 18, 1998**

She slammed the books down at his table, noting his blond hair immediately when she walked in. He looked at her, eyes cloudy and narrowing, mouth beginning to say something probably obnoxious before she interrupted. "Malfoy, I'm sorry."

Those eyes of him carved down and back up her body, stopping at her waist. Her hands had automatically fallen there when she dropped her books, and she realized she looked rather…affronting. Malfoy pushed the pile of books off his own piece of parchment. "You're truly charming."

"I wasn't thinking. I didn't know where else we could go and be left alone."

He looked to the front of the library, where Madame Pince was clearly judging Hermione's treatment of her books. The young witch stiffened. "Obviously we can't do our lessons _here_."

"You think I still want to teach you? You're daft! After you call me a bloody Death Eater and try to drag me back to…"

"To where you helped the Death Eaters?" She couldn't help the sniff. Hermione had waited two weeks expecting him to apologize to her. She had waited and waited, until she remembered that he was a Slytherin and a Malfoy, and if they were going to get anywhere, she shouldn't have those expectations of him. She had meant to be the bigger person, to be the brave one and apologize and move on from this. But she should have known better with Draco Malfoy. He didn't care about bravery or better people. All he cared about was himself and his needs. "Well if that doesn't make you a…"

"For a brief moment, _a_ _moment,_ I regretted telling you to go fuck off, but, you know what? I still feel the same. Fuck off."

"No." For whatever reason, her mind was focusing on the fact that he regretted cursing at her rather than him doing it again. This boy was strange, so unlike Harry and Ron. And although they both avoided each other for over two weeks, Hermione could tell that he was not truly mad. For one, his pale face wasn't red. And to her extreme relief, he wasn't yelling. Although that could have been because they were in a library, she knew Malfoy wouldn't care about that. "I won't. I'm sorry. Accept my apology."

Malfoy leaned on the back of the wooden chair. "I don't want to."

She was going to have an aneurism. "Why _not_?"

"Because you're not sorry. No, don't give me that. Just because you scream it at me, Granger, does not mean it's true."

Her lips tightened. How dare he! How dare he even _presume_ she wasn't sorry?! He didn't know what she was thinking! He didn't know what was going on inside…

"You don't know what's in my head. You still think I'm evil, don't you?" Draco examined his nails.

Hermione grimaced at the echo. She hated him, yes, but she didn't think he was evil. She never had. Sure, he was a narcissistic prick, but evil? He didn't have the character. "Do you still think I'm a filthy Mudblood?"

She had baited him to say yes, almost wanted him to so that she could validate her mistrust. But instead, Draco's mouth curved and he stood, folding the parchment he had been writing on and slipping it in his textbook. "You don't actually need those, do you? No? Let's go then."

"Wha-what?"

He was already whirring past her, his single textbook under his arm, walking and ignoring Madame Pince's huffing over their rather loud conversation.

Hermione blushed as she walked by the older witch and followed the blond out. "Malfoy?" She shouted at him when they were back in the halls. "Malfoy!"

He stopped. " _What?_ "

"Where are you taking me?"

"Because you had the decency of a response when I asked?" Draco turned back around and walked. He was quick. His legs were _long._ She knew he had been a Seeker, that he must have been agile and fast and athletic, though she never really associated those traits with him. Seeker traits belonged to Harry and that's it, and Hermione's thoughts started down a rather deep rabbit hole.

Like the conversations with Lavender and Parvati in the dorms about Slytherin boys. Though she hated, _hated_ them at the time, her heart thudded and pumped thinking about them all together—her woken and dragged half the time and wishing some exception could have her dorm with Harry and Ron. Draco Malfoy was always a popular topic. Who _didn't_ like the tall, pale, and broody type? Who didn't like rich, popular boys with pale blond hair and shockingly grey eyes?

Hermione didn't. No, no, she absolutely did not.

…Well, maybe she did, but not when they were bigots.

But there was also the fact that she knew he was exceptionally bright. As much as it loathed her to acknowledge it, Draco was intelligent. She credited it to nearly perfect breeding and probable tutors since age 2, but it didn't lessen the fact that he could be bloody brilliant sometimes.

He led her down to the dungeons. Her vision slowly readjusted to the dark, and she thought he may bring her to the Slytherin common room or _his_ room, before he turned and they walked past the Potions' classroom.

"Malfoy…"

He didn't pause. "You know Slughorn doesn't use his office. No one does. He had no family or…friends, really. Everything is still inside."

"You've been here? After he…"

"Yes." Draco didn't hesitate. They stood outside Snape's office, and the blond boy raised his wand. " _Alohomora_."

The door squeaked open, and Draco strutted in, a silent _Lumos_ already cast. "Well, Granger?" He cocked his head at her in the doorway. "Don't tell me the little Gryffindor is afraid?"

That was enough for her to step inside. Her eyes took in the dusty, dead professor's office. Everything seemed to be how Snape left it, just as Draco said. There were hundreds of mason jars of ingredients, a small table, and a fireplace with a thick pile of ash in the hearth. Draco turned to the thing and flicked his wand, extinguishing the _Lumos_ but casting a glowing orange flame in the fireplace. Hermione blinked from the full light. "Professor Snape tried to teach Harry Occlumency here."

"And failed most likely. Potter doesn't have the disposition and Snape wasn't exactly…patient with him."

"And Bellatrix was with you?"

He sat on their old professor's desk and dropped his textbook, head shaking at his aunt's name. "She was batshit but knew what she was doing. But I won't be teaching you Occlumency today."

Draco moved closer to her, and with a jolt, his fingers touched her temples. Hermione froze at his closeness, his warm breath hitting her in slow, steady puffs. Her eyes trailed down to his lips for some odd reason, the closeness probably reminding her of kissing Ron. Only it didn't. It didn't _at all._

"Relax, Granger." His tongue swiped over his upper lip. "I won't go too deep. It won't hurt if you don't struggle."

 _What?_ Her shoulders tensed and she exhaled harshly. Malfoy smirked. His hands went down to her shoulders, pushing them down, relaxing her without words. He brought them back to her head again and stepped forward, guiding her. Hermione backed away until she bumped into the leather chair behind her. "Sit."

She refused the word initially, the commanding tone making her obstinate. Hermione crossed her arms.

"It won't kill you. Sit down. You'll be more comfortable."

"Since when do you care…"

He pushed her not so gently down to the chair. "I _don't_. It's just easier." He squatted so that they were eye level and put his hands back on her head. "I'm doing this a bit differently. You can stop whenever you say so."

"I would hope so."

"A good Legilimens wouldn't stop." Malfoy seemed indifferent. "A good one wouldn't let you know that they're in your head." They held eye contact, Draco blinking somewhat rapidly, his pale eyelashes fluttering. He was staring deeply, and Hermione couldn't help but feel uncomfortable. She wanted to turn away, to break from the almost haunting depths of his, but she didn't. She kept her eyes on him and his angular face, his pointed noise, the wisps of light blond hair brushing his forehead.

 _Is he nervous?_

Malfoy seemed tense. His neck was taut and his breath, although steady, was deep and too controlled. _This is bizarre._ She wasn't supposed to be this close to him. She looked at his tie—green and silver—and felt his family's ring against her face. Wasn't he supposed to be disgusted by the mere touch of her skin? Wasn't _she_ supposed to be disgusted by him too?

"Are you ready yet?"

Hermione's eyes jumped up from Malfoy's chest. "Yes. You were waiting?"

He shrugged and dug the pads of his fingers deeper into her skin. Draco mouthed " _One, two, three. Legilimens"_ and she felt it. There was a sharp push in the center of her head. It was small but powerful and felt completely unnatural. There was something foreign in her head, something that was clearly _not_ supposed to be there and it made her itchy. Her skull felt like an egg cracking, and Hermione squirmed.

"Don't. It'll be worse." Draco Malfoy's voice was low. She fidgeted, and the pressure on her head increased. Hermione bit her lip as she felt that foreign object sift and sift and then suddenly pause. "Calm down. Calm the fuck down." Draco's fingers relaxed on her head, and he moved forward. He kneeled in front of her, head dropping a bit lower than hers, and moved his thumbs directly under her cheekbones. "You can pick."

"Pick?" Her heart was panicking. She felt the throbbing _pump, pump, pump_ of blood at his proximity, of _him_ inside her head. God, is this what it felt like? Is this what Legilimency was? It was terrible, horrible. She felt fully exposed, naked, and vulnerable. And the fact that it was _Draco Malfoy_ doing this…

"Your current thoughts are not protected so do try to hold back the disdain, okay?" His voice was ice. "Legilimency is partially about your thoughts and intentions, but we have Veritaserum for that. What a Legilimens truly wants is your memories. Give me one."

He was still staring at her, his eyes dark and concentrated. Hermione nodded a bit and thought of her parents and seeing warm, blue ocean.

 _The sun was hot and high, and she laid out on the sand, her dad next to her rubbing white sunscreen over his face while her mother was unpacking sandwiches. They were at the beach, and she felt the soothing buzz of happiness fill her chest_.

Malfoy smiled across from her. "Your parents?"

"Yes."

"Where are you?"

"Australia…that's where they live now."

 _Her memory-self picked up a seashell, smoothing the sand out of the white crevices. Her father was wearing a ridiculous straw hat with a wide, full brim. Her mother was laughing at him, pointing and saying he looked like a sunburnt scarecrow._ _She passed out the food, and Hermione tool a solid bite._

"What kind of sandwiches are you eating?"

"Chicken with rocket." _She could remember how they tasted, cold and perfect in the hot sun_. "I like whole wheat bread."

"When did you go?"

"Right after the war."

"For how many days?"

"14 days…two weeks. I miss them." She felt herself sputtering. Draco's fingers were moving around her temples in small, deft circles.

"Is that a new swimsuit?"

She fidgeted. "Yes."

"Black. I never thought that for you."

She didn't know why he would think about it at all. And she wanted to argue that not only was black flattering, but it really did go with everything and she didn't feel like purchasing a multitude of bathing suits. But he was already asking another question.

"Do you wear black for Weasley too?"

 _Her mind spun and new memories were coming, unforced by him and unwanted by her. Her and Ron in the Chamber of Secrets, desperate and clawing. Her and Ron in the tents in the woods, her breath uneasy as she watched him, feeling this_ need _in her._

"Don't ask that."

His eyes remained fixed on her. "Or red maybe? Red and gold seems appropriate for two Gryffindors. Do you dress up for him? Wear your tie or knee highs?"

 _Now she was thinking of nights in the Burrow and them kissing and kissing as if they never knew each other before. And then the nights when she said she was going back to school and he was so mad_. _Not worried or sad that she was leaving but disdainful and petty._ _He had called her foolish and asked, although framed as a joke, if she would ever know what to do with herself without books._ _He looked so pompous then, so incredibly condescending. "There's life beyond that, you know. You can't go run and hide and get all your answers from school, Hermione."_

 _She knew that. Blast him, of course she did. She had fought too. She had stayed with Harry when everything went downhill, and he didn't get it. Would he ever? Would she ever…_

"Stop. Get out, Malfoy."

His fingers fell from her head at her first word. Draco stepped back and rose to his full height, towering over her. She expected a smug look, some sort of smirk, and then some biting insult. But Draco just looked…empty. His long fingers adjusted his ring and he went back to lean on the desk. "Terrible, isn't it?" Draco tapped on the desk. "You're hiding something."

"Isn't everyone?"

He smiled coolly, the Slytherin in him showing. "You specifically. And whatever is in that dear, little head of yours, Dumbledore thinks it's worth protecting. Any idea what it is?"

No, actually. She had zero idea. Everything that could possibly be of any importance Dumbledore had definitely known or Harry. She was not privy to anything new.

Malfoy seemed amused as he read her expression. "Really? Not a clue? Fine, then. It's my turn. Get up." He rolled her eyes at her hesitance. "Bloody hell, Granger. Is it because I am saying it or do you simply refuse to be commanded by anyone? _Please_ get up if you'd be _ever so kind_."

She paused a few seconds, just to spite him, and then stood. Draco pushed her aside and sat down on the leather chair and crossed his legs. "Time to prove for all Muggleborns how terribly clever you are. You probably need a wand the first time, but that can only be expected for…you. I personally find that the more contact you have with the one you're casting on, the better."

 _Is he being serious? He wants me to go into his head?_ That was an opportunity she was not planning to miss. Hermione grabbed the wand from her robes' pocket and pointed it at his chest.

Malfoy touched the end with a finger. "Trying to cut open my heart instead?" He grabbed the tip and dragged it up to rest in front of his forehead. "You're trying to invade my mind, Granger, not splice me open."

"And you're letting me?" Hermione couldn't help but say. No doubt this boy had a million and a half things to hide from her. "Why would you let me?"

"Because you're here to learn Occlumency and you very well can't without learning a bit of Legilimency first."

"But I thought they were two separate things. There are some terrific Legilimens who have never done Occlumency. Why Qu-"

"It's daft to think you can protect your mind without knowing how people are going to attack it first. A Legilimens may not be an Occlumens, but you will never be accomplished at Occlumency if you don't know it's counterpart first."

"Very rectangle-square. I get it."

Both blond eyebrows shot up. Malfoy uncrossed his legs. "It's a simple enough concept." He settled his shoulders and lifted his head. "Look into my eyes."

 _What?_

"It helps," he said harshly.

So she did. She made eye contact with him again and saw the sea of grey. He was…unreadable. Although his body seemed calm and relaxed, there was a storm in his eyes of wind and energy. Malfoy, however, kept his voice incredibly even. "Whenever you're ready, Granger. The spell…"

" _Legilimens."_

He stiffened as she said the word, his lips tightening from the discomfort. She saw…she didn't know what she saw. He was there in front of her, and at the same time, there was a cloud of images thrusted in the foreground—vials and vials of memories shifting in and out in of her vision. She felt her own mind turn over layers and layers, digging through scenes all revolving around Draco Malfoy.

And then nothing. There was absolutely nothing. The clouds had hardened, the maze of memories gone from her reaching grasp. And then, in a puff, was one scene dangling in front of her. Hermione looked passed that one memory and saw the boy behind it. He was smirking. "You didn't think I'd let you go freely searching?"

She almost broke the spell from his voice. Not knowing how to concentrate appropriately, she didn't respond.

"Go ahead." Malfoy reached up and grabbed her wrists. Her wand clattered on the floor. He placed them soundly on his temples, and she felt him. He was warm, so bloody warm when she expected him to be chilling. His jaw moved with every inhale and she moved with him, middle fingers finding the groves in his skin. He smiled at her. "Take it."

She was reaching again, grabbing the single memory Malfoy laid on a silver platter for her. And in a flash it played.

 _He was flying. He was little—seven or eight maybe—and it seemed all of England was under him, fields and fields of green rolling into hills._

"It's Wiltshire." He said and she took a breath.

 _She could almost feel the wind, taste the dryness of her mouth as he sped and sped on his broom. It whipped by her, and strangely, she found herself_ loving _flying. She loved it. Why hadn't she realized that before? It was freeing, so goddamn freeing! The sun was warm on her—his—back. The wind was whipping and whipping his blond hair and he was smiling so purely._

 _And then his broom stuttered. Draco—not as reckless and brash as Harry as a flyer—immediately started downwards. His leather boots tapped the ground and he dismounted on the side of a dirt road._

 _Hermione didn't recognize the town, but it appeared to be small and most likely filled with Muggles. Little Draco seemed all too aware of that fact._

"Where are you?"

The eighteen-year-old boy in front of her frowned. "Still Wiltshire."

 _Memory-Draco dragged his broom and started walking. He looked scared, petrified, but Hermione knew he didn't have a wand and was now untrusting of the broom he held. There were no Muggles currently outside, but still the little boy was cautious. His gait was short, his shoulders high. The little boy looked like he was about to cry as a car honked behind him._

"The ever dependable automobile."

The edge of her mouth dragged up, but still she said nothing. This was too ridiculous. In front of her, was Draco Malfoy as a small child, his hair windswept, his grey jumper entirely too big, with a simple broom in his hands. She wondered why he didn't have the latest and greatest model until she realized he was entirely too young to be flying, let alone own a _real_ broom.

" _What's this then? A little squib?" There was a young teenager exiting the car with mousy brown hair and an unfortunate amount of acne._

 _Of course, squib had a variety of meanings in the Muggle world, but Draco didn't know that. The little boy hissed, "What did you call me?"_

" _What's your name little boy?" The teenaged Muggle was leaning on the back of his old white sedan, an uneasy smile on his narrow face._

" _Draco."_

" _Draco?" The teenager sneered. "What kind of name is that?"_

" _My first name. My last name is Malfoy." The little boy waited for the recognition that never came. "Don't you know who I am? Well I'm much too important for you. I'll be off."_

Had he never met a Muggle before? _Hermione knew that he hadn't, that Draco chose to show her his first time ever meeting a Muggle. A teenaged boy Muggle who was laughing at him and then pushing seven or eight-year-old Malfoy into the dirt road._

" _Think yourself a little princess then? You can be Cinderella. I've made you dirty enough for the part."_

" _Cinder—I don't know." Draco was crying, streams of tears on his cheeks and catching red dust as they fell. His hands were bruised and red. His voice was choked. "I don't know…"_

" _What are you even doing here you albino freak?" The boy took the plain broom off the ground and snapped it on his knee. "Off with you then! Go to your ball! Off! OFF!"_

 _Draco scuttled to his feet and ran, leaving his broom broken on the dirt road. She heard him cry, felt the wrench in his chest and…_

His walls were chasing her out, and his hands were back on her own. His grey eyes seemed to flicker, entirely more lucid than they were a few seconds ago. "Your kind are so pleasant."

"I can say the same about yours." She turned her palms so they gripped his tighter. She felt scared. She felt sad and broken and had to wonder if those were actually _his_ feelings from the memory. _Strange._ She dragged his right hand so that they pulled down the left sleeve of her robe. Hermione made his fingers touch the scars, the letters, in her skin. "Your kin even."

"Fuck Bellatrix." He said and his head curved, dipped, and she had the sinking feeling that Draco Malfoy was going to kiss her. His eyes were half lidded, and she knew for a fact her own emotions were dizzy. Her tongue licked her lips, feeling the heat of his steady, rhythmic breathing. Her mind was so clouded with his own memories, and what if…what if…

He dropped her hands and pushed back on the chair with a resounding _screech_. She snapped back away from him.

Draco sniffed, "There are not nice wizards out there." He was looking at her left arm and grabbing his own. "My aunt has never been a nice person."

"I can believe that." Hermione was still trying to get used to the fact that she maybe-almost kissed Draco Malfoy. _Was that what that was?_ They had been awfully close, but hadn't they been close to each other the whole time? _I'm losing my mind._ "I'm sorry about that…boy. There are not nice Muggles out there too, but not all..."

"I realize that now." Draco stood from the chair, frustrated, angry. "Forgive me that I was not raised to love you. Fuck, forgive me that I was raised to think your kind is filthy and a threat to my own world."

His voice was stern, thick. Hermione wanted to lean against something but settled for clenching her own fists. "I will when you forgive yourself, Draco." She felt her throat catch, but Hermione continued. "You're not sorry. Not _truly._ "

"Then help me!" He shouted. "I don't fucking get it. Don't you see? The people I trusted my whole life told me one thing and now I'm realizing they were followers of a bloody _psychopath_." His hands went in his hair, pulling and tugging. Hermione wanted to get in his head again, curious of his torment, of what was behind those walls he suddenly tore down. She watched Draco calm himself, hands in his face. "I need to understand why I was wrong. I need you to teach me."

"Teach you? Teach you what?"

"To not be a bloody arsehole about this. I know…I know it's wrong. I feel it. I've _felt_ it. But how do I reconcile that with what my father and mother did? How can I _begin_ to make any sense of it all?"

She didn't know why she was smiling, but she was. Hermione steadied her still swimming mind. "You want to make sense of it." She let herself laugh a bit. Draco gave her a biting look but she continued, "You sure you weren't meant for Ravenclaw?"

"I think that's the first time someone has ever questioned my house allegiance." He touched his tie on reflex. "Blue's not really my color."

"No I suppose it isn't." She quickly laughed again, not really believing Draco Malfoy was making her laugh at all, and briefly wondered what he would look like in red.


	7. A Gift

A/N:

I went on quite a writing rampage last weekend.

 _Zipporah363:_ Glad you found me here too! This profile is a bit more updated as it took me a while to even FIND H &V. But the story posted there is actually more polished! I may have to check that fic out, though I hate to get involved with fics that are abandoned.

 _4fanci:_ I hadn't realized how sad the current scenes are until you said it! Maybe I suppose because they get sadder... Thank you for so much for the compliments!

* * *

 **Chapter 7: A Gift**

 **September 19, 1998**

So it was strangely decided that while Malfoy would teach her how to be a proper Occlumens, she would teach him… _decency_?

Hermione squirmed at her own thought, knowing that whatever issues he held were deeper than just that. It seemed ridiculous that he ask that of her, that he was even self-aware enough to realize that yes, prejudice is not all it's cracked up to be and maybe he could do something about it.

What Hermione didn't know was _how_ she was going to help him. She wanted to. That surprised her. She wanted to help him _a lot_. There was something deeply satisfying about Draco Malfoy acknowledging that he was a bigot and asking her for help. Her—a Muggleborn witch—who should be the source of his intolerance. And though that "helpful" part was the bad, vengeful part of her, there was also the large part that just wanted him to be a decent person because, well, shouldn't _everyone_ get to be a decent person? Even prats?

She had decided that the answer was yes. She would help him. She didn't have a bloody idea _how_ but she would.

It was Saturday and she was currently looking at the gargoyle door of the Headmistress' office. For some odd, uncalled for reason, Hermione felt guilty and out of place. She stared at the thing—stone eyes glaring impassionedly at her—and murmured, "Nepeta Cataria."

It took another five minutes to steel herself to go inside, though Hermione still didn't know what was causing this hesitation. It felt like she was walking towards a lecture, a reprimand, but she hadn't really done _anything_ this week besides do terrifically well on her Charms essay.

Oh and go into Draco Malfoy's head. There was that.

Her eyes scanned the portraits of the Headmasters, stopping pointedly on the two she knew the most. She swallowed at the memory of those men, of their deaths, and the sweat started to bead down her head.

McGonagall was seated at her desk looking particularly interested in a piece of parchment before sighing, signing, and gesturing for Hermione to come inside. "Thank you for coming so early, Miss Granger. And on this day too."

Hermione offered a light smile. "Of course, Professor. Always." She hesitated again before sitting, and because of this weird, overwhelming feeling of guilt, she asked, "Did I do something wrong?"

The older witch stiffened at the statement and held back a bit of a laugh. "Miss Granger, what makes you say that?"

"I'm not sure. I…I've tried to learn Occlumency? Maybe that's why…"

"Do you feel guilty about spending time with Mr. Malfoy?"

Yes! Maybe. Wait, no! No, why would she feel guilty? "I haven't spent that much time with him." Which was true. They had only started yesterday, and although they agreed to meet there the following Friday, she doubted seeing someone once a week could be considered a lot of time.

Though this was _Draco Malfoy_ —a boy she previously would have spent absolutely zero time with. And although they planned to be alone together only once a week, she still saw him every day in multiple classes. _This is so stupid._ Why was she thinking about this so much? Clearly, McGonagall had something important to tell her.

"How about the other students?"

Hermione relaxed her face. Of course the Headmistress couldn't care less about what was a suitable amount of time to spend with Draco Malfoy. "Sorry?"

"Have you spent time with them? How are they doing?"

" _All_ the students, Professor? I…well, Ginny is a little miffed to be far away from her boyfriend, but Quidditch is starting up soon and she's always excited about that. Luna's always hard to read. I've talked a bit with Terry, but mostly about Arithmancy." Hermione paused, sensing she wasn't getting to the heart of the question at all. She straightened her back in the chair and looked at McGonagall's wrinkled, worried face. Her old transfiguration teacher had heavy bags under her eyes, and Hermione wondered if she looked similarly. Sleeping had been hard over the summer, and it became even worse now that she wasn't running to Australia or keeping a stiff upper lip for Ron. His brother's death had weighed on her boyfriend, and she filled the space of being his strength and support for weeks. It made her forget the deaths, to be so heavily concentrated on someone's life. It made her forget about Moody and Dobby and Fred and Tonks and Lupin. About the plummeting, earth-shattering feeling in her chest and lungs when she watched Harry fall in front of Voldemort the first time and how she was so lucky that they had won and were okay.

"Everyone remembers what happened here." Hermione grabbed her own wrist. "The Great Hall may be fixed but we all remember."

McGonagall nodded. "I thought so. The atmosphere is certainly different here and it worries me. I've had several talks with Professor Slughorn over the condition of his house."

She couldn't even imagine. She remembered the first years that were sorted into Slytherin and the dead, white look on their faces. No one wanted to be associated with that house after what happened last year, even though Hermione remembered Slughorn running in, _galloping_ in with a stream of students in silver and green ties.

And then there was Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy. There was Vincent Crabbe, who was dead, and Greg Goyle, who was gone, but both had been Slytherins and had fathers who were Death Eaters. "It's wrong to judge all by one." _Or two. Or ten_. But Hermione kept that thought to herself.

"Miss Parkinson has expressed her…regret over her behavior that night."

Hermione went rigid. Though she had somehow found it inside herself to bear Malfoy's existence, Pansy was an entirely different story. While Malfoy had refused to identify them back at Malfoy Manor, Pansy was ready to send her best friend to his death.

McGonagall seemed to read her face. "I know. I unfortunately felt the same way, but then I remembered, Miss Granger, that not all of us are Gryffindors and that fear…fear can bring out the worst in people."

She was pretty sure Pansy was just the worst _of_ people but once again bit her tongue. "Does she plan to act on this regret?"

"Actually yes. She has been quite vocal about wanting to help Hogwarts."

The guilt she had been feeling hit her like a ton of bricks. Though she wanted to float through the year with good grades and passing N.E.W.T.s, she felt an obligation to this school, didn't she? Why hadn't she offered to help? "Professor, you know that I want to help too. That's also the reason why I came back."

"I figured that, Hermione." The older witch's face softened. "And I know that you realize how important a united Hogwarts will look to the wizarding community. We can't disband Slytherin house. They don't deserve it. Salazar, although not holding the best of beliefs at the time, was truly a founding member. We can't let his house be stained."

 _His house is stained._ "What can I do?"

"Work with Miss Parkinson. She has some ideas that I think will help the students. "

This should hardly seem surprising to Hermione, but she still felt her jaw go slack a little. She didn't very much like Pansy Parkinson, and she was already spending so little time with her own friends. "Professor, first Malfoy and now…"

"I know. But this is nothing obligatory. We have some fundraisers that need to be planned, some more books and hallways to go through. I'm sure you can help with those, but…" McGonagall shook her head. "I don't mean to impose on you, Hermione. Not at all. I couldn't ignore the notes left to me, and I trust you to want the best for this institution. Your name carries a lot of weight, and Miss Parkinson is certainly representative of Slytherin. You two working together would…"

"Help. I understand." She felt so tired. "What does Pansy actually plan to do?"

McGonagall shrugged. "Bring back an old tradition. That's all."

.

.

She found Pansy Parkinson sitting outside, a leather notebook flat on her lap. Her black bob moved as she looked up from her book, nose high, but Hermione only shrugged before sitting next to her on the stone bench.

"Granger."

"Pansy." Hermione's eyes strayed away from the girl who seemed to have no interest in her as well. Unconsciously, she found herself looking for an owl. One had come earlier that day from Harry—a new perfectly black owl that was short and fluffy and completely unlike Hedwig. The bird had dropped a small package, which Hermione opened immediately to find a book of English poetry and a note that said:

 _To my friend the bookworm. Think of me whenever this sits on your shelf…which will be always._

 _Love,_

 _Harry_

She hated poetry. Harry knew this. Harry could be a real arse sometimes.

No other owls came after that, and Hermione felt herself resigned next to the Slytherin girl. "Hello."

"McGonagall said you might try to help." The girl still wasn't looking at her.

"Yes, well, ta-da." She wasn't in the mood. She didn't really feel like adding another Slytherin to her fix list. "We can skip all the small talk if you want. You want to help Hogwarts for some reason. I want to help Hogwarts. Let's just…"

"What do you mean _some reason_?" Pansy finally looked at her, dark eyes blazing. As much as Hermione had lumped Slytherins into one, terrible basket, she knew that Pansy was nothing like Draco Malfoy. For one, Draco was a silent manipulator. He was slippery like a snake and could hide and twist his behavior to make a mockery of you and make you feel infinitesimal. Hermione was very familiar with this.

Pansy was just plain loud. She was loud and rude and _much_ more ostentatious. While Draco let his name speak volumes, Pansy relied on fancy jewelry and clothes and a bitchy personality. _They truly are a fantastic couple._

The Slytherin slammed the book shut. "This is _my_ school too you know. Just because you wear red and gold and I wear green and silver does not make _you_ better than _me_."

Hermione was stunned. "It wasn't long ago that you thought you were better than me."

"I still do." Pansy said, not missing a beat. "But I need you and your goody-goodness to help me plan this dance."

"Dance?" Hermione's mind immediately went to the Yule Ball. "Like in fourth year?"

"Only less international. You like reading, right?" Pansy shifted through her bag and dug out a _very_ old looking book. The cover was oxblood leather, the yellow pages fringed on the end from use. "You can _borrow_ it. B-O-R-R-O-W. Do you hear me?"

Hermione flinched. "Hard not to." She took the book gently from Pansy and gagged at the title in thin, gold script.

 _The Rites and Passages of Young Witches and Wizards: A Guide to Wizarding High Society._

Thank God she had skipped breakfast. She would have hurled right on Pansy Parkinson's leather boots. "You're kidding. Is this some kind of pureblood guidebook?"

"Only because this was written when there were mostly only purebloods. Don't be so discriminatory." Pansy huffed and tapped the cover, right on the author's name. "You of all people should give it a shot. Or just read chapter 8. I really don't care. Meet me here every Saturday at 10:30 and we can discuss." Pansy reopened her notebook and took a black quill from her bag, ignoring Hermione's existence again.

It was her cue to leave, but Hermione felt stuck, flabbergasted, at the name on the book. In perfectly clear, shining gold script was the name Geraldine Gryffindor.

 _Gryffindor._

"Pansy…"

"You're still here?" The black-haired girl didn't turn. "I really have nothing else to say to you. Don't you have some teacher's arse to kiss? Now shoo!"

The girl made the gesture with her left hand, and Hermione stood up, too frustrated to respond. She huffed away, the ancient book in her hand still as the September sun beat down on her.

Two books on her birthday, and neither she felt entirely compelled to read. That must have been a first. _At least Pansy Parkinson actually_ gave _me something_. Though it wasn't like the girl knew or intended it to be a gift at all. Hermione was, after all, only _borrowing_ it.

Though it was still more than Ron. God, _Pansy Parkinson_ had unknowingly done more on her birthday than her boyfriend! How outrageous! Hermione felt as though she should be fuming, but she just felt incredibly _tired_.

 _What a bossy witch_. Hermione escaped the outside and trudged towards the Great Hall, hoping there would be something left from breakfast. _What an impossible, overbearing girl. How does Malfoy deal with her? Why does he even_ like _her?_

She stopped dead.

Well that was a weird thought.

.

.

 **September 19, 2017**

Two more years of being in her thirties and that would be it.

God, when did she get so old? Her mother didn't have her until she was 35, and here she was…38 with two kids in double digits. She never thought she would have two that young, but Ron had always wanted a big family, and she had wanted _not_ such a big family, so she couldn't complain much.

They had managed— _better_ than managed. And she had one daughter gone to Hogwarts and one son desperate to get there. She woke up to her husband humming and making her eggs with toast and black coffee. He was already wearing his robes, and after a quick "happy birthday" and a not so quick kiss and grab of her behind, Ron hurled himself up the stairs only to come down just as fast with a small long box in his hand. "Got it in Muggle London. I hope it's right."

She tugged at the edge of the poorly wrapped present, smirking that after all this time, her husband still couldn't fold neatly. Underneath the paper was a small velvet box, looking like a case for a necklace or a bracelet. Hermione opened the box to instead find a black pen with silver trim, _H.J.G._ engraved in the ballpoint's body.

"I love it. Adore it! You actually listened?"

"I always listen."

She kissed him on the cheek, knowing that to be entirely untrue. "Thank you, Ron."

"Happy Birthday, Hermione." Another kiss. Another dash. Her husband was off early to work. Or at least she assumed it was for that. It was 7AM and she didn't have to leave for another hour, and Hugo was still sleeping.

Hermione yawned over her coffee, scratching her hair and thinking about what she had to do for work today. There was the lunch meeting with Shacklebolt. And she still had to run through another law about the legality of specific interrogation techniques.

She supposed this was contributing to a better wizarding world. Sure, she didn't have the excitement of an Auror or the sheer passion and fulfillment of working with magical creatures, but it was good work. Truly good work. And today was not the day to have a midlife crisis about it.

She flinched at the solid _peck, peck_ of an owl and muttered, "It's too early for the post."

Hermione rubbed her eyes and walked towards her kitchen window that stood over the farmer sink. Her flat had a view of the cobblestone street, and the rather large eagle owl barely fit on the sill.

 _Eagle owl?_

She opened the window immediately, and the owl, broad and strong, hovered over and dropped a neatly wrapped package in the sink. There was a letter in his beak, which Hermione practically swiped. "Thank you."

The owl, of course, said nothing and flew away from her window and her flat, leaving Hermione with a letter and a wet package. The letter she left on the counter before grabbing for the square package wrapped in simple brown paper and a twine string. It seemed so simple, and she tugged at the string to reveal a hard cover book.

Now, Hermione had received hundreds of books through her childhood and adulthood as gifts. She had too many books and bookshelves in her home and even more in Australia with her parents and in her office at the Ministry. But this book had her stopping. This book had her paralyzed and hard of breath, and she already _owned_ it.

Hermione took the letter and the book, crashed in the kitchen chair, and fumbled with the envelope. Her hands were positively shaking, and she had to pause and take a deep breath before she tried to open the thick parchment again.

 _I never thought we were dumb either._

 _-Draco_

She slipped the note into the first year Astronomy text, right before the chapter about Ptolemy.


	8. Grey and Blue

A/N:

Upping the rating because of this chapter and future ones. Apologies for anyone who started this and wasn't anticipating the change!

 _4fanci:_ High praise! Thank you so much!

 _Guest:_ Ah! Always a problem (especially with my crazy posting schedule). The book is the same book originally given to Draco in chapter 3 (though I've misspelled Ptolemy twice and it has now been fixed!). I hope that that's cleared up! I'm trying to make the time jumps seamless, but let me know if anything else gets wonky and I'll work on it!

* * *

 **Chapter 8: Grey and Blue**

 **September 25, 1998**

He grabbed the book from his pack and tossed it, and Hermione cringed as the text flapped at her feet.

 _Muggles and Their World._ She blinked again. Hermione knew he was taking Muggle Studies, but was he actually taking it _seriously_? "Malfoy?"

His lean body moved to the rug on the floor and he crossed his legs, leaning the back of his head on Snape's desk. "Give me my parchment, Granger. I'm ready to be less of a pure-blooded arse."

Holy God in heaven was this boy infuriating. She wasn't quite sure she believed in God, never being raised religious and then being shipped off to magic school, but if he did exist, he granted Draco Malfoy the uncanny ability to annoy the living daylights out of her.

She hadn't realized he was so bloody curious. But of course she should have. When not laughing at her and her friends or being positively bored, Malfoy was astute and focused. He was always scarily accurate in Potions, impeccably formulaic yet creative in Arithmancy, and could downright recite all original members of the Sacred 28 and their family trees to present day.

Undoubtedly the last point was due to him being a _pure-blooded arse_ , but it was impressive nevertheless. _Am I impressed by Draco Malfoy?_

Hermione coughed, almost choking at her own thought. She had moved to the floor when Malfoy refused to get up and started reciting chapter names and footnotes that she could not flip to fast enough. He had finally grabbed the books from her hands and brought it to the floor with him, forcing Hermione to follow. Her legs were spread out in front of her, crossed at her ankles to stop any reveal of knickers. She coughed even harder at _that_ thought.

His face was blank. "Are you dying?"

"No."

"Shame. Would save me a lot of trouble."

"Should I go up to the Gryffindor Tower now? I could jump."

The smile on his face was warm, almost pleased. Hermione felt her own lips twinge as he said lightly, "If it's not too much trouble."

"No trouble at all. It'll save me from all this pain and suffering as well." And although he was infuriating and asking her too many questions about laundry products and roundabouts and rap music, Hermione had the weird thought that she wasn't necessarily hating this as much as she should be.

He didn't answer, apparently bored with their brief back and forth. "I don't get religion."

"Me either."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Don't be condescending. I literally do not get the concept."

" _Me either_." Hermione peered over to see what chapter he was looking at. It was a general chapter on religion, nothing specific, completely theoretical. Malfoy was in the introductory class of course, and Hermione supposed she could attempt to describe religion as a concept. "It's used as a way to explain the unexplainable."

The blond looked at her keenly. "Like _magic?_ "

"Yes," she said unexpectedly. "Only magic is real and much more…tangible. Religion is primarily based on faith."

"I've read a few chapters." His lips curled and he thumbed the pages awkwardly. "Seems dumb."

"Herding cattle with giant bonfires seems dumb too."

He shifted in his seat on the hard, stone floor, and Hermione had a hard time determining if he was amused or uncomfortable. "Now, now. Reading up on paganism?"

"You don't really call it that, do you? The word pagan was brought on by Christianity, though _paganism_ is so much older. The Beltane rites…"

"Someone handed you a book about Beltane?" Draco _was_ amused. And curious. The Slytherin laid his hands flat on the stone surface, sliding up so that they were slightly closer. He was so insufferable.

"When you're a Muggle and then get a letter from a school teaching _Witchcraft and Wizardry_ , you tend to read a lot about the subject before agreeing to attend." That was actually true. Sure, the introductory chapter of Pansy's book had drudged up those memories, but she had first read about Beltane and Samhain when she was eleven. No one in the modern wizarding world really ever brought it up though. For goodness sake, the Weasleys celebrated _Christmas._ "What is it to you?"

"It's nothing of course. What you read is absolutely no concern of mine. It's just…" Draco paused. He tugged at his textbook and shook his head. "Well, wizards forgot about all that stuff as soon as they had any sense."

She baited him. "Well how did they start?"

"Similarly to the Muggle religions." He admitted easily. "So I do _get_ religion. But how does it bloody _persist_? Don't your people know about evolution?"

Yes, yes they did. She surprised Malfoy knew. As far as she was aware, there was no biology class even offered at Hogwarts. "Of course they do. But people come from different backgrounds." His cheekbones suddenly looked less sharp as she stared at him, his eyes a creamy, smooth grey. His whole body screamed, _"Challenge me! Make me think!"_ , and Hermione easily obliged. Her own brain hummed from their conversations, of reading him, of trying to understand how he thought. It was so interesting, so…addicting to try and get into his head. Even if it were just metaphorically today. "People are raised to believe different things, and it's…wrong to have everyone believe what you think is right."

"What _you_ think is right." He rolled his tongue over the thought and became silent. His hands creased over the pages of the text, and his whole body tensed again. Malfoy turned the silver ring on his right hand, and Hermione, for the first time in a while since she sat with the boy, felt uncomfortable.

She found herself staring at him again, and then she realized she had spent more time with Malfoy than any of her friends at Hogwarts. Or Professors. Or _anyone._ The other day she had written a letter to Ron, but even that was less thought out than what her brain was working on now, just _staring_ at Draco.

Her boyfriend had replied back with a quick apology and some flowers because he had forgotten her birthday last week, but Hermione only felt the dull murmur of hurt in her chest.

Her eyes trailed back to the blond wizard across from her. He was still entirely too skinny and pale. He wore too much black, and he really must have wanted to look as ugly as possible with all the scowling he did. Draco looked burdened and tired and stressed beyond anything that Hermione could imagine—those mercury eyes bloodshot and dizzying.

And she caught them. She caught those eyes quickly with her own, and she felt herself inhale deeply, her mind buzzing and then going radio silent as she heard a thick, deep voice say, _"How could they have been so fucking wrong? I love them. I would do anything for them. But why would they believe his…SHIT."_

Malfoy fumbled up ungracefully and roughly pushed Hermione's shoulders. "Get out. Get _the fuck_ out."

"Malfoy…" She didn't understand. She wasn't holding her wand. She didn't even say the spell. But wandless and voiceless spells were of course possible, and she always had a knack for…

The weight of what she had done finally dawned on her. She had read his mind without his permission. She had _gone into his head_. And although it was by accident, Draco really didn't seem to care one bit. The furious wizard grabbed his book from the floor and thundered to the door of Snape's office. "The _fuck_ , Granger." He repeated. "What is your problem? You couldn't bear to not do it? To not see what goes on in this dark, dark head?" He opened the door with his wand, the flames from the fireplace flashing in his eyes and painting them in embers. "Fuck you. Fuck you to whatever fucking hell you actually believe in."

She was still on the cold, stone floor, her head swimming with _his_ thoughts. And although the words about his parents had been the loudest, there were other streams of consciousness lolling in and out of his head, rolling in and out of her own mind now that she invaded it. And though those thoughts were less important, less about him and his own pain, she had focused on them almost as equally.

Because she swore— _SWORE_ —that Draco Malfoy had thought her legs looked good in this skirt.

And that made her a bit tingly.

.

.

 **September 26, 1998**

Fuck. His head hurt.

He had a migraine, which could only be expected from the way Granger had practically crawled and chewed her way through his walls. They must have been up. He never, _ever_ let his Occlumency relax completely, and he didn't see how his body would somehow decide that yeah sure, it'd be completely fine to let some girl who hated him lollygagging in.

Fuck his own body.

She had gotten in somehow. She had gotten in and was reading him, not even _looking_ for anything specific, just reading him with those doe eyes and looking all innocent and…

Draco sneered and slammed his head on the pillow again. His shared room with Blaise was empty, as it usually was. His roommate was not the most…loyal of suitors and although the idea of conquering every cute girl at Hogwarts turned Draco off, he wasn't one to judge his friends. Well, that wasn't true. But he had already judged Blaise enough for that little character flaw that it really didn't bother him anymore.

He buried his face in the pillow again, the white down feathers starting to prickle through the grey sheets and poke his cheeks. He flipped his body around, frustrated and annoyed. His body was energized with residual anger over what that Mudblood had done. That Mudblood. Mudblood.

That didn't feel okay anymore.

It never did. Not _really_. He was twelve when he finally heard and retained the word in his vocabulary, and being _twelve_ , he thought it was the perfect noun for a person who was not born a wizard but still found it incredibly okay to be a know-it-all swot about magic.

Only it hadn't really meant that at all, had it? It meant something entirely crueler. Which, to be honest, he hadn't minded once he figured it out the same year. Granger had been _so_ bloody pretentious. She not only embarrassed him but rubbed his face in it, and wasn't he allowed to return the favor? Wasn't he allowed to shove _her_ face in the fact that if it weren't for some weird mutation or some latent gene expression she wouldn't even _be here_?

His eyes stared up at his dark ceiling. It was late. Probably 3AM. He saw the moonlight reflection of the Great Lake overhead, silvery panes of waves moving back and forth, back and forth. It usually calmed him. Usually, he would watch the faint light dance, and his eyes would grow heavy and he would forget about Voldemort in his house with his mother or his dad in Azkaban. He would forget about the tattoo on his arm and how it _marked_ him.

Draco couldn't sort his own thoughts. He realized that a bit too late. He was trained to follow, not lead. He was bred to listen to his father and mother, to never question but only nod and bow and dance around in tight, well-dressed circles.

Granger made him think. She boiled his blood, that was clear, but she also made him question. She challenged him. She dug into him with a two-pronged attack: one to help him understand her and two to help her understand _him_. She wanted to understand him. She had asked about Beltane, maybe not directly, but she had _known and asked_ , and he was so fucking confused by it all.

And then she just had to get into his mind and blow the whole thing up.

She was still a swot. She was a complete kiss-arse too and was still too loud, bossy and could not for the life of her use a brush appropriately. And hopefully it was just the fact that he had not touched a girl in a year, that Pansy was a bitch and so damn annoying, but he found himself looking at her.

She was pretty.

Fuck, he could admit that a Muggle-born was pretty, couldn't he? His mother looked at those fashion magazines, and some of those witches were Muggle-born. He thought Granger was pretty, and tonight hadn't been the first time. Back in fourth year he had thought it too, her in that blue dress and her hair up and her face _fucking glowing_.

His hands found their way under his loose, grey vest. Draco tended to not wear much to bed—usually a vest and pyjama bottoms—but tonight he had been so heated with anger that he forewent the bottoms all together and just wore his boxers and vest. His thumbs were moving up and down, attempting to calm his stomach, feeling his heated skin pulse and flinch under his own touch. Up and down, he dulled his thoughts into a steady murmur, the stroke, stroke of his own palms and fingers sending his brain into a fuzzy haze.

Her eyes were wide and expressive, gold and brown and gleaming in the thin firelight. She bit her lip when she looked at him nervously, which wasn't often but still so damn satisfying. Those lips were pink and swollen. They were superbly _wet_ and he licked his own in mock anticipation _._ Draco's hands fell lower to his hip bones, and he scraped his fingers across the firm, pronounced point. His back bucked slightly off the mattress.

Flushed cheeks, mouth slightly open. Fuck, he could picture it. She was looking at him so _ardently_ and then she moved…

His hands went lower and lower, and he brushed passed the bristle and worked his way up and down again. Up and down. Up and down in rhythmic, soft strokes. Her legs had been twisted together, at first crossed and then laid out so effortlessly in front of her. They were milk white besides a few bruises, a scar or two that maybe she got last year or ten years ago for all he cared. And _fuck_ , she moved in that skirt. That skirt which must have ridden up as they talked, and he caught the flash of powder blue knickers.

Tiny and tight and blue. His hand rushed faster and faster, his chest heaving, and Draco let his tongue hang from his mouth. Imagination was taking over (t _hank, Merlin)_ and her hands had fallen to her skirt, her fingers in the band of her own panties in front of him. She was looking at him, coyly, cocky, and started twitching out of them slowly. So fucking slowly…

The door to his room clicked open, and Draco grimaced, stock-still. It was dark. His hands let himself loose and fell tensely at his sides, the throbbing pain between his legs driving him to silently curse. He tried to steady his breath and close his eyes.

 _Threstrals. They suck. Not sexy at all. That time Slughorn leaned over and smelled like body odor and fruit flies. Doloros fucking Umbridge._

The pain lessened, but it was still practically insufferable. He was _so close_ , and now he was even more frustrated. Draco grunted.

"Look, mate, Pansy's a bit of a harpy, but…"

His back went rigid. Embarrassment quickly melted his erection. "Piss off."

"I could give you another five—nah— _two_ minutes if you'd like."

The sad thing was, he probably only needed one more. Draco hissed and uncomfortably rolled over, away from Blaise and the stupid door that let him in. "Fucking shove it, Blaise."

"Not my thing, Draco. Even with you. You're a pretty bloke, you know. I could probably find…"

The _clunk_ of his clock hitting Blaise in the chest never sounded so satisfying.


	9. Old and New Friends

A/N:

Only the present this time...

* * *

 **Chapter 9: Old and New Friends**

 **November 3, 2017**

He shouldn't have come. Not only had he not been to the Ministry in years, but the reason why he was here was completely inappropriate. It was a miserable day in London. The sky was grey, clouded, and teased rain with a gloomy, annoying drizzle. Draco Flooed to the Leaky Cauldron, bought himself a pint ( _toss the fact that it's nine)_ and transfigured a quill into an umbrella before heading out of the pub and to the enchanted phone booth. He came to London about four times a month, mostly for Ministry business but never actually meeting at the Ministry. He preferred the Leaky Cauldron. Or even Muggle coffee shops. Watching Shacklebolt squirm over his wizarding vocabulary in front of Muggles would never get old.

Draco dialed the phone and waited. With a powerful _suck_ , the blond wizard landed on the dark tile of the Ministry of Magic. Workers were rushing about, looking busy and important and not at all put together. Draco slipped the transfigured umbrella into his black leather bag and straightened the collar of his grey trench.

"Fucking hell. Why isn't it Draco Malfoy."

"Is it now?" He turned at the questioning voice and gave a thin smile. His face broke into a full-on grin as the short woman ran to him, throwing her arms sloppily over his neck, her black hair tickling him. Mobs of wizards and witches briefly stopped their march to work and stared. "Hardly appropriate, Ms. Parkinson. This is your place off work."

"Piss off." She didn't loosen her grip and tugged at him more.

"I saw you two months ago."

" _Four_ months ago." She still hugged him. "And only because it was my birthday."

"Merlin, you're such a shrew."

"You're such a rude git." She gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek. "Take me to lunch later? I have a meeting at one. Meet me at 12 at my office."

"Are you still out saving those that can't save themselves?" The fact that his friend seemed to develop an affinity in helping downtrodden magical creatures never ceased to amaze him.

"You know I am. Granger's office is on the 11th floor. Take the right lift over there." She pointed and winked. "That's closest."

"Pansy, what the fu…"

"I'm sure it's all innocent enough. It _better_ be. Merlin knows Astoria…"

"It is Pansy," Draco said quickly. "It's not about that."

"But you're still seeing Hermione?" She asked though she already knew the answer to that. "Sorry. I shouldn't have… your life sucks, doesn't it?"

"At least I'm not an old, alone hag." All in all, he considered himself lucky compared to a handful of his and Pansy's housemates. For one, he was alive and not in Azkaban. He had a family, a house that was probably too big for three people though he didn't think so, and most of his family's money. Of course, his mother and father had donated a good, hefty portion of his inheritance to the Ministry and several foundations that supported victims of the Second Wizarding War, but he still had money. He still had _a lot_ of money.

"Well, at least I have a job to keep me warm at night. Ah, toss it, Draco. Let's fight over lunch, okay? I have a meeting." Pansy squished her face at her gold watch and hurried off towards the left bank of lifts.

As much as he hated when Pansy was right, Pansy was right. Draco walked to the right bank of lifts and moved to press the up button. His trench was still wet from the drizzle of rain, and he sniffled before sneezing.

"Bless you."

"Thanks." Draco pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and turned to the man who spoke to him. He immediately cursed himself for doing so. "Potter."

"Hello, Malfoy." It was weird seeing Potter formal and standing straight, going off to his place of employment. And although he and Potter were the same height, Draco felt so much smaller at that moment. He moved his chin higher, hitting his silver, family ring on the handle of his bag as he waited in silence. Potter—the dumb fuck—had other plans. "What brings you to the Ministry today? Found an evil towel in your cupboard?"

He sniffed, the ridiculous jab almost appearing like _teasing_. Then he looked at Potter, hair dark and messy, mouth smiling, and Draco realized he _had_ meant it as a joke. "Got to hand it to you, Potter. That was almost partially amusing. "O" for obnoxious."

"Albus is raving about his new friend."

Draco kept his eyes focused on the lift doors that did not seem to want to open. "Hopefully some of Scorpius' good breeding will rub off on the boy."

"And he…likes Slytherin."

"A good kid despite his genes." Draco turned and felt the need to say something, maybe shake this arsehole's hand or punch him in the face. He wasn't sure which he preferred at the moment. He knew Harry Potter had been…accepting about the whole thing, but it was accepting in the way that his mother had accepted Bellatrix—just sort of ignore it and hope it goes away.

And maybe, quite possibly, what if he hadn't been so damn accepting? What if he threw a fit about the whole thing and forced them to spill? To _act_ on it?

No, he couldn't punch him in the Ministry. That would surely piss someone off. The lift chimed and the two wizards stepped inside, Draco forgetting his etiquette and going inside first. Potter hit eleven and looked to Draco. "Floor?"

"Eleven is me too."

"Meeting with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement? I thought the Manor search was cleared weeks ago."

"It was." Draco stiffened, wishing for once Potter would just put his nose down and mind his own business. _This is why I never meet in the Ministry._ It had been sort of nice to see Pansy, but Potter was literally disdainful. "I don't have a meeting."

"Oh. _Oh_." Potter stood still, now entirely too quiet and making Draco flinch. He grabbed the sides of the lift as the contraption banged and jerked in several different directions, finally stopping at eleven. "You know she's married, right?"

That teasing look again. Did Potter think that they were actually friends? "No, I'm actually from the past, here to win her heart and…fuck, Potter I'm joking! What do you think? I have some secret Time Turner stashed away somewhere?"

The Auror had actually looked worried, but soon Harry Potter was breaking out in a stiff, snorted laugh. "I'm here to see her too. Come along."

That was the last thing he wanted to do, but Draco figured there was no other way to go about seeing Hermione without following her best friend. They walked idly side by side, Draco feeling like he should be more uncomfortable than he actually was. Workers turned slightly as they passed—both of them incredibly recognizable and not exactly known for hanging out with each other.

The door to her office was closed, though the walls were glass. Hermione was turned from them, one of those mobile telephones in her hand as she faced the faux window. Being underground, the Ministry had no _real_ views, but Hermione's office was currently overlooking what seemed like a sunny beach. It reminded Draco of Australia, not that he had ever been there. Rather, it reminded him of Hermione's memory of Australia, and he felt his knees give a bit.

"Potter, I made a mistake." He touched the Gryffindor's shoulder. "I'll be…"

"Doesn't she know you're coming?" The idiot was already knocking, and Hermione turned. She smiled—first seeing Harry—and then her eyes fell on him. Draco felt his body shift under the weight and watched the mobile telephone fall from her hand, thudding by her feet.

"No."

"Got that." Potter opened the door for Hermione, walked in, and picked up her mobile. She was still staring at the blond though, and Potter decided to end the call for her and put the mobile on the desk. Draco was still standing outside the glass doors of her office, feeling entirely dumb and rude for barging in on her workplace without her knowledge.

 _Did you think she would be happy to see you? That she would smile and give you hugs like Pansy? That she would crack jokes like Potter?_

He sneered at his own thoughts and walked in, one hand in his trench, the other fully grasping his leather bag. Draco stopped next to Potter, deeming that safer for some reason. His eyes glanced around her office. It was…sort of messy. She had way too many books, way too many papers, and an extra pair of clean robes thrown over a chair. _Workaholic._ He found himself grinning. He wouldn't have expected anything less.

"I'll just be a second, Malfoy." Potter went through his robes' pockets and dropped ten galleons on Hermione's desk. "There. You're right. I'm through."

"Uh, what?" Hermione had finally broken eye contact from him. Thank, Merlin. He was feeling rather exposed. She noticed the galleons on her desk. "Oh, already?"

"We played last weekend. I was delaying this as long as possible. She whipped me. Bad that I'm sore from riding a broom?"

Hermione seemed to regain all her focus. She laughed a bit and patted her friend on the back. "Ginny was a professional. It's engrained in her to win no matter what."

Draco felt his eyes widen. "Granger, did you make a bet with Potter about _Quidditch_?"

"Strange, huh? Though I'm certain she only did it to embarrass me in front of my wife."

"Your wife the old, professional Quidditch player?" Draco sniffed. "You played _her_?"

"She was a Chaser professionally."

"You're the biggest twit, Potter."

"Oh, like you're still such a _great_ Seeker, Malfoy? I bet you can't even get on a broom anymore."

"I bloody can! And I'm not out there challenging professional Seekers and throwing galleons away!"

" _Chaser_. She was a prof…"

"Ehum." Hermione coughed and pocketed the galleons. "Thank you for respecting the bet, Harry. But I'd be the happiest witch of the century if I never have to hear either of you fight about Quidditch again."

Harry relaxed, moving away from Draco and giving his best friend a quick hug. "Want lunch today?"

Her eyes dashed to Draco for some reason. He only raised his eyebrows to get her nodding. "Okay sure. Let's go to Muggle London. There's this new curry place I've wanted to try."

"Sounds great." Harry looked between the two and then scratched his head. "You guys are okay? With me not…you're not…"

"Goodbye, Potter." Draco made his point by sitting on the chair in front of Hermione's desk. The witch looked less easy but finally nodded and gestured her friend out the door. Draco couldn't help it, "Close it on your way out?"

Potter scowled but listened. He shoved the door with a quick slam and walked back towards the lifts.

And then they were alone. Granger looked like the last thing she wanted was to be alone with him. The witch tugged at her hair and picked a mug from her desk. "Do you want tea? Coffee?"

He was sort of enjoying her unease. If anything, it made his own thoughts feel more normal. "No."

"Water?"

"I'm fine."

"Oh, okay." Hermione fidgeted with the mug in her hand, placed it on her desk, and then started pacing. The witch circled and circled, wringing her hands together and refusing to look at him.

Draco watched, his amusement falling away to slight anger that she was _that_ uncomfortable with him. He picked his body up from the chair. "Look, Hermione, clearly you don't want me to be here. I'll go."

"No. Stop!" She rushed to the front of her office door, holding the handle with her hand. She glanced behind her, and blushed. She really _did_ look ridiculous right now, as if she were preventing a prisoner from escaping. Hermione exhaled and cast a wandless spell. The glass walls and door transfigured into wood, the faux-window to Australia becoming nothing but dark panels.

Draco sniffed. "Well, if that's not suspicious."

"What are you doing here?" She was still leaning on the door, eyes wide and wild. "Why would you just…you can't just _come here,_ Draco."

"You just came to my home." Or had she just forgotten that bit? "You just Apparated on my doorstep, attacked my bird, and took several of my belongings."

"I was there on _business_." Her hands fell to her hips. Merlin, he liked this Hermione so much more. _Masochist._ "The whole point was to take several of your belongings."

"I'm here on business too."

Her mouth suddenly closed. Hermione fidgeted with her hair again. "You are?"

 _No, not really._

"Of course I am." He started, fingers tapping with sudden anxiety. Draco crossed his legs and placed his leather bag on the floor. "Why else would I be here?"

"I got your gift."

There, she said it. He didn't know if she would. He didn't know if she would acknowledge that he sent her a gift on her birthday. But this was _Hermione Granger_. She wasn't too scared to acknowledge it. That was _his_ problem, not a Gryffindor's. Draco swallowed. "Did you like it?"

"Yes," she said simply before sitting at her desk across from him. Her hands laid flat on the wooden surface, her wedding and engagement ring catching his eye and making his breath short. She was still beautiful. He could admit that. She was like a painting or a photograph or a good book. He could _appreciate_ how her eyes managed to still have that glossy sheen under the institutional lighting or how her pink lips still looked full and lush. He could admire how the little laugh lines were barely there without a stitch of makeup, and how, even after two kids, she still looked bloody _fit_.

She took another sip of her coffee. "So what's your business?"

He sobered immediately and felt his chest rise, the stress of his ask burdening his brain once again. Draco wished she would just read him, would just go into his head so he didn't have to say it, so she could understand. But she wouldn't do it, not unless he asked her to which he wouldn't. "It's hard to say."

Her curiosity piqued, Hermione rolled her seat a bit closer, moving her hands almost to the edge to where he sat. Her breath was harsh and heavy, as if she _knew_ though she didn't. He looked up to her again and their eyes locked. "Draco?"

There it was with a solid _smack_ —so much guilt and memories and fucked up actions. He felt weak under her stare, so bloody weak and scared. He was a coward. He had always been such a fucking coward.

"Draco, it's important." She started again. Her fingers curled, and he recognized the action. "It's okay." Her golden-brown eyes were pleading with him. "You can tell me. You can _always_ tell me."

He knew that. Though he built this wall, this fortress between them, he could tell her. He needed to. Draco placed his hands on hers and laced their fingers. The heat enveloped him immediately, and an action that was supposed to calm his heart only made it hammer and hammer more. He couldn't tell her this. It was an unnecessary burden. Hermione didn't need to…

"My wife is sick." It fell out—plopped out—and now he felt entirely stupid for grabbing her hands. _Fuck._ His eyes fell down, and he began to move away until he felt her grip tighten and drag him closer.

"Tell me how." Her voice was barely a whisper, making him look at her again to make sure she was talking. Her whole body was shaking. "Tell me how I can help."


	10. Lemon Tarts

**Chapter 10: Lemon Tarts**

 **September 26, 1998**

"Do we dress up?"

Pansy Parkinson looked at her like she asked how to make a Hiccoughing potion. The stare was positively deadly, and if Hermione had been…not her, she may have flinched. She had brought the book by Geraldine Gryffindor with her, and wasn't that enough? Hermione was under the impression that she only had to sit and stand next to Pansy, not pick out color schemes or be at all useful.

 _Who are you to half-arse things?_ She fidgeted on her uncomfortable seat on the stone bench, and Pansy's voice dripped with disdain. "You haven't read chapter 8."

She was currently skimming through chapter 3, a chapter that was overly concerned with shoe buckles and wand cases. "I haven't."

"Could you? You're useless to me until you read it. Orange or red?"

"Orange." That answered surprised her, but she always thought orange was more autumn-like. "If we decorate the Great Hall in red it'll look like Gryffindor just won the House Cup. That's hardly an environment for unity."

"You're right," Pansy seemed a bit shock and scribbled in her notebook. "Can't have that. Plus, it'd throw off the transition."

"Transition?"

"This is Samhain. Transition from Autumn to Winter. Only makes sense to have the decorations change as such. Want to tell the House Elves what our menu is going to be?" Pansy handed Hermione the list of items, but Hermione didn't grab for it.

"You better. They don't exactly…"

"Ah, yes. When you decided to fire them all." She folded the parchment and placed it in her robes. "You're a bit less annoying now."

She'd take that as a compliment.

"Actually." Pansy was setting down her quill. "You look depressing. What gives?"

She felt depressed, unreasonably depressed because the source of said depression was Draco Malfoy. He had been relaxed around her, opening up to her and wanting to learn and change. He trusted her to help him and she threw all that out the window. She could look at the positives. Now her Friday nights were free and she didn't need to spend any more time with that git. She could do whatever she wanted, like study or see her real friends.

Only she sort of wanted to spend time with that git. She _really_ wanted to.

"Nothing gives. Can we talk about incorporating more Muggle Halloween traditions? I think we can really use the fire nicely with the pump…"

"It's a boy," Pansy said, almost sounding… _thrilled?_ The petite girl moved a black strand of hair behind her ears and smiled at her. _Smiled._

 _What is going on?_

She wanted to spend time with Draco Malfoy. Pansy Parkinson was smiling at her. The world was _bonkers_.

"Oh, come _on_ , Granger. Millicent and Daphne are so boring when it comes to this stuff. Let me have this. Please?" Pansy hesitated. "As long as it's _not_ about Blaise. I can't deal with another girl mewing after him. It's annoying."

She blinked. Pansy was being serious. Pansy Parkinson seriously wanted her to explain how she was sad because Draco Malfoy—Pansy's boyfriend—most likely never wanted anything to do with her ever again. Hermione found herself burning holes through the text in her hand. _I can't exactly say that._ But what could she say?"You know I'm seeing Ron."

"No, actually." The girl next to her smirked at Hermione's shocked face. "Not all girls read _The Prophet_ at face value. I despise that gossip rag."

And here Hermione thought she hated this girl. She felt her throat loosen. "Well I am…sort of. I mean, we saw each other all summer but we never really _agreed_ on anything." Wait, why was she bringing this up? One, this was not Pansy Parkinson's business. And two, why was she suddenly so uncertain about her and Ron's status? They were together. They kissed. They've kissed _multiple_ times, and though he had forgotten her birthday and she hadn't seen him in months…

"So you snogged and he didn't ask you out? How typical. You really should read that book. Every pure-blood—even if he is a Weasley—should know better than that."

Hermione absently flipped the book. "Is that the way it works?" Victor had never bothered to ask her out since he was going back to Bulgaria. Plus, her crying over another boy didn't really strengthen the older Seeker's feelings for her. And the only other guy that showed remote interest in her was Cormac and that would just never, _ever_ happen.

"Unless you intend to be a complete slag—which you can. Nothing wrong with that. I am a modern witch. But unless you intend to just burn through wizards, you always need to get some sort of formality out of it, Hermione. Really." Pansy huffed. "Learn from me."

 _Learn from her?_ She shouldn't be curious, but she was. _Bollocks._ "What do you mean?"

"Now _I know_ you've seen me with Draco Malfoy." She gestured to her hair. "Bright blond? Always scowling? Wish you were dead second year? We've been on and off for a while. I know asking more from him would push him away, so I didn't. But now we're nothing, and I think that's all we'll ever be."

She felt insanely awkward. _Incredibly_ awkward. Hermione twisted her hands together. "You don't deserve nothing."

"You don't either." Pansy covered her own mouth in surprise, but with another thought, nodded her head in determination. "We're witches. We're powerful. Fuck Draco Malfoy."

 _Yes, fuck Draco Malfoy._ She hesitated under Pansy's gaze. "…and Ron?"

"Yes! And Ron! Hermione, don't accept just _snogging_ boys. Until you get your title, you're a free witch. You hear me? A free Muggle-born witch."

The idea made her very uncomfortable and jittery, and she did not like the weird glaze in Pansy's eyes. "I think I'll go. Read chapter 8 and all that."

"Fine, fine. See you in Potions."

Hermione nodded and quickly walked towards the castle.

This week was bizarre.

.

.

 **September 29, 1998**

This witch was bizarre.

She had stalked him on Monday and Tuesday, never saying a word but shadowing his steps and always just silently _being there_. She sat near him in every class they shared together, walked side by side with him to the Great Hall and the library, but Hermione Granger never spoke. Well, she still answered every question and would acknowledge the girl Weasley and Loony in the halls, but she didn't speak to him. At all.

In Charms on Wednesday, she bypassed her normal seat in the front row and sat right next to him in the fourth. The class was small, and Flitwick looked positively dumbfounded as Granger dropped her books to Draco's right, took out her wand, and said, "How are you?"

Draco didn't know what to say to that, slightly confused that now—and not the other 48 hours—she decided to speak to him. He wasn't quite sure how to go about this…person. Ignoring her was the obvious choice, but she had spoken quite loudly and just pretending he didn't hear her would make him seem like an idiot. Or an arsehole. But he had been an arsehole to her thousands of times before, and he didn't know why he was second guessing it now.

 _Maybe it's because you mast…_

"Fine, thanks," he said to block out his thoughts more than anything else. Draco grabbed the knot of his tie and loosened it. Pansy sat to his left, and he could tell without looking that she was switching off between staring at him and Granger.

The petite girl leaned over the desk to look at the Muggle-born witch. Draco stiffened at what remark she would make, what bitchy comment or sneer Pansy Parkinson…

"Hermione, have you made it to chapter 8 yet?"

 _What?_

Granger actually replied _pleasantly_. "Halfway through actually. Tell me, how should I expect to win myself a pure-blood husband? By investing in an enchanted diamond necklace or practicing my Viennese waltz?"

"You? Your best chance is Amortentia." Pansy smiled playfully at her, and Draco felt like dipping into his seat—confused and…and confused.

Pansy and Granger didn't joke or laugh at each other. They didn't talk to each other outside of rude remarks about bitchiness and hair products (or lack thereof in Hermione's case). And the fact that they were joking and smiling was at the very least unsettling. Draco turned to his ex-girlfriend. "Chapter 8?"

"Geraldine Gryffindor's book." Hermione was the one who answered, the second whole sentence she said to him in days. "Very educational."

"Merlin, that load of horseshit? Pansy, this was your doing?"

The short-haired witch shrugged and unrolled a piece of parchment. She had been acting weird all week, but in a good way. She wasn't clingy or whiny. She wasn't attaching herself to him and pretending that they were dating. While Granger seemed to constantly be at his side, Pansy barely acknowledged him, and it was sort a relief.

Though he would have still appreciated if the girl acted friendly. Whatever. He would settle for less annoying.

Flitwick finally decided to start teaching, and like always, it turned out to dreadfully dull. As much as Draco hated to admit it, he had learned a lot of advanced charms from Death Eaters. And the one they were learning today— the Protean charm—he knew very intimately. The fact that he was first introduced to this charm by the witch on his right suddenly didn't sit well. He wondered if she knew that he had been so…impressed with those idiotic coins that he decided to take the idea for himself. That her charm was how he attempted to smuggle dangerous artefacts and poisoned wine into Hogwarts to kill a man she loved.

 _Didn't Weasley drink that wine?_ He looked at Granger, her brow furrowed in concentration, her quill lightly tapping on the wooden desk. She looked calm, normal, and Draco wondered how she could bear to sit next to him, how she could sit alone in a room with him and not expect the worst.

Only _she had_ expected the worst. And who was he to prove her otherwise? Because he didn't let them die? Because he was scared and guilty and let Snape do his dirty work?

 _Maybe I can't blame her then…for going in my head._ Would he have trusted her if their positions were reversed?

They were to work in pairs, with each student receiving a plain, silver necklace. The objective was simple: charm the necklaces to be attuned with each other, to react when the original caster summoned them. Once the objects were charmed, the pairs were free to leave and test the charms throughout the week at different areas and distances around the castle. And because Pansy found that she rather work with Millicent Bulstrode (which was a first, really, especially when he was there), Draco was stuck with Hermione.

She was lacing the silver necklace in her hand, staring at it instead of him and seeming to concentrate too hard. Draco glanced to his own necklace on the table. This wouldn't take more than five seconds for the both of them. "…forgot how to do it?"

"No," she said gruffly. "What do you want the appearance to look like?"

"Sorry?"

"When we activate them. There should be a signal and it can't be painful."

"What about olfactory?"

She bit her lip, and Draco found his eyes drop, and he thought about how pink and lush those lips looked. She wet them with a swipe of her tongue, and he felt his throat tighten. Quick images of periwinkle panties went through his head, and Draco stifled a groan. He really thought with his prick too much.

"Whatever you want."

He must have imagined that. Really? Whatever he wanted? What about one that made her smell like cat pee? Or vomit? Or want to walk around in blue knickers? _That'll go over well._ "We could just make them gold."

"Half the class will do that. You want to do what everyone else will?"

"No," he said immediately, and Hermione gave a knowing smile.

"Olfactory was a good idea, but it has to be something uncommon and…not gross. I don't really want to smell like piss at your command. Especially considering…"

She was hesitant. She bit her lip even more, and Draco felt his spine stiffen. He rather enjoyed a shy Hermione Granger. "Considering what?"

"That you're probably infuriated with me." She leaned closer, the gold in her eyes showing. "No probably. You are. I'm sorry, Malfoy."

"You're always apologizing." He scoffed. "It's sickening."

Hermione let her mouth hang open. "You don't want me to apologize? Not after I…"

"Lemon tarts? What about those?"

"Excuse me?"

"I like lemon tarts. You must as well, though what do I know about Muggle-borns?"

She blinked at him, mouth still catching flies. "You don't want me to apologize and you want our necklaces to smell like _lemon tarts_?"

"Yes to both those things. These aren't permanent, Granger. They can smell like piss if you rather have that."

"No! God, no! Lemon tarts it is then."

It took them no more than five seconds to charm the things and swap. Hermione placed the silver necklace on with ease and stared as he fumbled, getting the chain caught once in his hair and then dropping it on the ground.

"Malfoy, have you been hexed? What are you doing?"

"Yes, I've been hexed. What does it _look like_ I'm doing?"

The witch huffed. "You'll ruin it. Let me."

It wasn't like he was exactly familiar with jewelry. There was the family ring, but rings weren't exactly difficult to put on. Draco tensed as he turned around so that his back faced Hermione. He was still in his seat, but the witch stood and took the silver necklace from his hand. The cold metal hit his neck with a single motion, contrasting deeply with Hermione's fingers grazing his neck, brushing the end of his white blond hair. A hot flood of breath prickled his skin and Draco leaned towards her.

"Malfoy? …Malfoy?"

He turned back around. What was wrong with his thoughts? "What Granger?"

"It's done. The necklace is on."

"Oh." He should have realized that. "Thanks."

"Of course." Hermione looked down again, clearly agitated about something. Her voice lowered, "You're sure now…that you're okay? You know, I would like to continue our lessons."

 _Why?_

Hermione continued, "But I can understand if you don't want to. I didn't mean to do what I did. Sometimes I really can't control my own head and that was probably what happened Friday night."

This—of course—led to about three Ravenclaws and a Hufflepuff to stare at them incredulously. Pansy had stopped yammering next to them, clearly listening in on what Hermione was saying.

Draco felt the edge of his mouth rise. "We all lose control of ourselves sometimes."

The comment seemed to legitimately shock Hermione. "Oh?"

"Many a witch do around me, and it's never really their fault. Feel free to continue. You can take full control of _one_ of my heads for a while. All night, if you like."

Draco heard Pansy guffaw harshly, but Hermione seemed to only stare at him. _One, two, three, four…_

"You're a misogynist."

"That's a new one from you. Brain's not working like it used to? That one took you a while."

"Should I take more time? Come up with something wittier?"

"I don't think much more time would actually _help_."

"It would." Hermione was very matter of fact. "I'm presuming you must mean your penis since it wouldn't take much time to go through that head of yours. Unless it's both empty _and_ cavernous."

All thought abandoned him at Hermione Granger saying penis. "Er, what?"

"Aw, come on, Malfoy. You can do better than that." She grabbed her book and wand and then gestured at her necklace. "Let me know? About Friday?" And with that the witch sauntered out of the Charms classroom.

Pansy's laughter became a bit louder. "Did you just crack a dick joke to Hermione Granger?"

He looked at his ex, annoyed. "What does it matter to you?"

"I'm always fascinated with train wrecks. So, these _lessons_ on Friday?"

"They're nothing," he said quickly.

"Well yes, it always starts like that, doesn't it? Granger's getting ideas from that silly book." She flicked his nose. _"_ No Amortentia even needed."

Draco left the classroom after that, not even bothering Pansy with an insult. She knew perfectly well when she was being a bitch.


	11. Productivity

A/N:

It makes me so happy that you guys are liking Pansy. She's strangely super fun to write. Thank you, thank you, thank you for reading!

I'm realizing this story has a bit more past to tell for the time being, so apologies for those wishing to read the present (next post, I swear!).

* * *

 **Chapter 11: Productivity**

 **October 2, 1998**

"' _And please tell Hermione that I love her and that she really should consider coming to the Ministry one day. We could use someone with an actual brain over here.'_ "

"I'm sure he's exaggerating."

"There's more." Ginny offered but folded the letter. The red-head sat excitedly on Hermione's bed as she read bits and pieces of Harry's newest letter. He seemed to be adjusting well as an Auror and the "real world", and there was a lot to do with some minor Death Eater activity lingering across the UK. "Ah! I miss him. Tell me more about this terrible dance idea and why I can't invite him."

"It's meant to build student unity. Harry's not a student."

"Neither is my brother."

She wanted to tell Ginny how Ron hadn't written her in two weeks and how snogging a few times did not a boyfriend make. Sure, there were expectations and suggestions, but Hermione rather rely on cold, hard fact. And the cold, hard fact was she and Ron had never talked about what they were and if they were anything. "So he will not be attending either."

Ginny didn't seem satisfied with that response and frowned at Hermione. "You know Susan Bones told me this horrid rumor that you're shagging Draco Malfoy."

Her eyes widened, and Hermione was grateful that was the only physical reaction to the outrageous claim. She probably would have choked if she hadn't heard the ridiculous thing herself yesterday. "How long until _the Prophet_ writes about that?

"Hopefully never. Hermione, what's going on?"

A jolt shot through the older witch's body, and she suddenly wished Ginny Weasley would just leave her room. "What do you mean?"

"You seem distant."

"I'm right here." She hated that she just said that.

"Please, Hermione. I'm your friend. Is it the war and being here?"

Yes. It was the war and no Harry or Ron and how she felt like a ghost. It was missing her friends at the Ministry and even more about missing her friends that were dead, and how now she didn't know what to do with herself. They had won and her life was normal. She would pass her N.E.W.T.s and get a job and be perfectly fine. But would she? She had been through so much, and now that it was all over, this year didn't even seem real. It felt like dreaming, floating, and she was waiting for the ball to drop, for the rush of memories of running and blood and death to come crashing back in.

She felt like utter _shit_.

Ginny scratched her nose. "Is it just me or do I smell lemon?"

It wasn't just her. Hermione took one big whiff and could smell the sharp bitter smell of lemon melding in with soft butter and sugar. It shouldn't have shocked her that Malfoy was good at this charm, but that he was using it…

Her heart started beating too quickly. "It does. Makes me want a bit of a snack." Hermione grabbed her wand, sliding it into her jeans pocket. "I'm going to the Great Hall to see if anything's left from dinner. You can hang around if you want, Ginny."

"Hermione, it's almost eleven."

"I know but sometimes they have…"

"Will you be straight back?"

"I might do some studying after." Not a complete lie. Not really. Studying Malfoy was becoming her hardest subject. _Shouldn't I feel guiltier about this?_ "I'll see you tomorrow!"

She left without another word, the smell of flakey crust and tart, tart fruit invading her, dragging her to the dungeons. There were some third year Slytherins in the hall, and they gave her a hard look before whispering and heading down to wherever the Slytherin Common Room was. It was still incredibly drafty down here, the cold starting to seep into her bones now that it was deeper into autumn. Hermione gazed down the hall, expectantly towards the Slytherin dorms, wondering what they could possibly look like—if they were warm and cozy under all that silver and green. Cozy would be the wrong word. Comfortable would probably be an even worse one. Luxe would be better. Or beautiful or eerie or unfathomable. Yes, the last one was probably the best.

Hermione shivered and took another step. Her feet tapped softly on the stone floor, and her stomach grumbled at the undeniable smell of lemon tarts pervading her. She opened the door to Snape's office slowly, half-expecting Malfoy to not even be there. But she saw the soft roar of the red fire and relaxed in the soft lighting. Malfoy was already there, leaning on Snape's old desk, his pale, long fingers wrapped around the silver chain.

"Merlin, Granger, you smell like a baker's arse."

She let herself frown. "It's _your_ charm, Malfoy." That seemed to shut him up nicely. This time Hermione walked closer to the fire, sitting on the thick green oriental rug splayed in front of it. Her back relaxed under the heat of the flames, the chill starting to leave her. The desk Draco leant against was awkwardly positioned for anything related to Legilimency or Occlumency, and Hermione thought that was perhaps not the plan today until the blond wizard walked over and sat cross-legged across from her. His hair looked golden in the light of the fire.

"A baker's arse smells almost identical to lemon tarts. Didn't you know?"

"Never had the pleasure of smelling one." Hermione breathed deeper as Draco let go of the Protean charm. "I didn't think you'd want to continue."

"We keep doing this Granger. It's old. Let's just accept that we're bound to do something that will get the other ridiculously pissed off and get on with it. It saves a lot of time."

"You're being awfully rational about this."

Draco shrugged. "You have to get over a lot to be here with me. I can do the same."

The sudden deep and honest answer struck her. He was staring at her, dead on, but the phrase had fallen out so _simply_. She felt a twist in her chest, and her hands slid against the thick rug, pressing deeper and deeper as if that was supposed to comfort her. "You mean because you were a Death Eater?"

"Yes," Draco said, his voice tight, his right hand rubbing his left forearm where she imagined the scar marked his skin. "That's the obvious thing. Or how about how I was a complete prat to you since we've met?"

"You were a complete prat to everyone."

"Especially you. And Potter and Weasley. But I was a bigot to you, Hermione." He licked his lips and swallowed. "I didn't treat you with respect. I didn't think you _deserved_ respect."

Did he now? Did he actually respect her? She felt that he was trying. She felt that his world had shattered, and Draco Malfoy was desperately trying to see how the pieces fit back together. "Muggle Studies is really helping you, isn't it?"

"We're spending too much time together." His mouth edged up. "Your sarcasm is starting to get funny."

"Sorry, but it's…do you really feel that? That we're equal?"

"No," Draco said a little _too_ quickly. He full out grinned when he saw Hermione dip her head. "But I don't think Goyle and Zabini are equal either. Or you and Weasley for that matter." He sniffed at that. "The scale is very tipped towards you in that match."

"That book Pansy lent me said something interesting, that the Malfoys were one of the first pure-blooded families to marry half-bloods."

He raised a single blond eyebrow. "Yes, always preferable than marrying cousins. My ancestors had great foresight at the atrocity that is inbreeding, believe it or not."

Hermione did believe it. "So you're not mad that I went into your head?"

"I should be a better Occlumens than that."

"That's not a good reason. I shouldn't have done it."

"Granger…"

"I shouldn't have. But as far as things go, you've done worse things than me, so I accept."

Those silver eyes of his glowed. "Sorry?"

"I accept your apology."

"For what?"

"For hating me. You don't anymore, do you?"

His cheeks even looked red in the firelight. It made him seem calmer, less tense and sharp. "I don't."

"I don't hate you either." Which was the truth. She had hated him. She had hated him profusely, but she couldn't bring herself to feel that way now as she looked at him on the rug across from her. His face both shadowed and glowed with light, his hair brushing across his forehead and not slicked back. His eyelashes looked like strands of gold thread, and she really thought that Malfoy was beautiful. He was so beautiful in front of her now and so unbelievably sincere. Something terrifying blossomed in her chest.

Draco didn't comment on her small confession and drew his wand from his blazer's pocket before taking the dark piece of clothing completely off. It was getting hot in front of the fire. "Occlumency," Draco began. The wand rolled between his fingers, though his eyes never left her face. "Funny thing about it is, it's a whole lot more effective when you know what you're trying to hide."

Her eyes flashed to the forgotten piece of clothing next to the wizard. She was sweating herself. "I don't know what I'm hiding."

"An amateur Occlumens will think it is all about blocking out an intruder completely, but that's _absurdly_ hard when you are starting out and when you can't manipulate memories. Any decent Legilimens will know your head is not blank. You have to offer them something without showing them what you're trying to hide."

"But how do you know what the Legilimens is looking for? How do you not _think_ about it when you know it's what they're looking for?"

"You can think about it all you want if you're good. You could think about fucking and they wouldn't know the difference."

She couldn't help the snort. "Why would I be thinking about…that?"

"My mistake. What would your equivalent be? Studying? Getting perfect marks?"

"That's hardly a fantasy."

Draco was clearly amused, his eyes glittering. "A shag shouldn't be a _fantasy_ , Granger. Even for you."

The ability to speak was getting harder by the second. The fire was burning her skin, and Draco Malfoy was sitting so passively, just smirking at her while talking about sex. Hermione didn't like it. "This is completely unrelated to Occlumency."

"True, but it's interesting."

"Counterproductive."

"You don't always need to be productive." He was still twirling his wand. "Is that's what stopping you? There're spells to make sex less _productive."_

"Wait, did I say I don't hate you? Let me…"

"Fine. Since the idea seems to make you so uncomfortable, I want you to think about it."

"Hating you?"

"No," Draco said evenly. "I want you to think of the randiest thought or experience you ever had."

"What?! No! Why would I…"

"And I want you to hide it." His eyes were fixated on his wand. "You're a beginner, Granger. I know you think you're the absolute best at everything, but this is different. You'll need to want this."

No, no. She was not giving in to whatever pervy idea Malfoy had. "No."

"Do you ever wonder how I learned over one summer? From my dear Aunt Bella? She was good, but not that good."

She knew why. "Because you would have been found out."

"I would have _died_. My aunt told me that if Dumbledore discovered me, she would have killed me herself. Maybe my mother too."

Her blood ran cold. "Draco…"

"It would have been less painful than Voldemort but only because I am _family_ after all." He shook his head. "Fucking lunatic."

She wanted to reach for him, touch him and stroke the black wool of his jumper, move back the bangs on his forehead. _He didn't need to say that_. Hermione bit her lip, filled with nothing but pity. _He's so broken._ She felt her chest give way. "I think I need it to be real."

He blinked at her. "The memory?"

"Yes. I don't care about some fantasy. It needs to be something real."

She expected a snide remark about her lack of sexual experience or how she was chickening out, but Malfoy just nodded. "Real it is then." He closed his eyes, and Hermione inhaled as her concentration broke. She had been looking at them this whole time.

"I'm going easy on you. No eye contact, no touching." Malfoy coughed.

"How will you know if I succeed? Are there any words?"

"No words." He kept his eyes closed, and Hermione found herself watching his breathing instead. Up and down. He was rather slight, certainly more …developed than sixth year, but lean was the best adjective for his body type. His chest got tighter as he took a deeper breath. "You know what it felt like to get in and how it felt when someone is in your heard. You felt the walls I made?" He paused, waiting for her response and Hermione promptly nodded. "Good. Everyone's mind is different. Build a maze and don't let me find the true exit."

She didn't work well with analogies. She wanted precise directions, a methodology. Malfoy's nose twitched and he opened his left eye. "What's the problem, Granger?"

 _How did he…he didn't even cast the spell yet._ "You're not really explaining it well."

His right eye opened, and Hermione was met with a flash of silver. Draco stiffened on the rug and his mouth became a thin, pink line. "I'm explaining it exceptionally well."

"Hardly! _Build walls_. How is that helpful?"

"It's what you do."

"But _how_?"

"Granger, do you meditate?"

She gave him a look that perfectly described how she felt about meditation.

"Didn't think so. But the concept you must get. It's the same. Kill all your thoughts. Funnel them out and build new ones, fake ones, so that no one knows your hiding."

She glared at the boy across from her, watching— _glaringly_ watching—the flames of the fireplace dance on the silver plate of his irises. The color was shocking. Grey eyes must be exceedingly rare and recessive. Strange since the Malfoys didn't really encourage…

"I'm going to cast the spell now."

"Okay." She dug her previous thought down and then attempted to bury the rest.

" _Legilimens_."

And there it was again, that weird, foreign thing in her head— _Draco Malfoy_ in her head. It wouldn't always be this obvious; she knew he was stomping in, pushing his way when he could snake in more silently. She could feel him sift through her slowly, almost lazily, and Hermione couldn't help but think how _nice_ he was being about all this.

Draco sniffed across from her, and Hermione groaned. "Oh, shut up, Malfoy."

"I said I'd go easy on you."

"And I said _shut up_."

He grinned at her and closed his eyes again.

There was a lot she wanted to hide from Draco Malfoy, mostly the exact extent of her hatred for him when she was younger. But that was easy to not think about. It was getting much, _much_ easier to not think about how she used to hate him. There were her own embarrassing, dirty little secrets that she assumed the blond wizard couldn't care less about, and then another memory popped in her head—one both embarrassing and probably something Malfoy would care about.

"Ah, got something for me?"

She went rigid at his voice. It was playful, mischievous. "No."

"Good. You should be lying right now. I'll find the truth even though I'm not trying. Come on, Granger, push me out."

 _Yes, go out. Get out_. She wanted him out before he discovered this and realized what she had done. It had been a good idea at the time—maybe not the best researched, but it was a legitimate plan. He would get that, yes?

"Granger, try harder. You're signaling me."

She shook her head. "I am?"

"Yes. Stop thinking about whatever plan you had."

 _Bollocks_.

So she tried thinking about useless things, like how Harry likes his soup only tepid while Ron likes it tongue-flinchingly hot. She thought about different types of teeth and teeth decay and gum diseases, and then wondered if the sole cavity she got last year was because of the Polyjuice potion she took to look like Harry and that woman from the Ministry. But then there was second year, and she hadn't…

 _Bollocks. Bollocks. Bollocks._

"You thought I was _what_?" Draco opened his eyes again, and she felt his presence suddenly leave her, her mind becoming empty besides her own thoughts. Her shoulders relaxed. It had seemed easier this time, and with the slow pace Malfoy decided on, she felt less vulnerable. Except that he knew…

"It was the only reasonable explanation at the time. You touting about Slytherin and pure-blood supremacy. What was I supposed to think?

"Oh, I don't know. That maybe I wasn't the heir of Slytherin? That maybe my family history is _incredibly_ well documented and that you could try doing what you do best and reading a book before _stalking_ me."

She was glad he was out of her head. If only he knew what kept Harry occupied during sixth year. "Apologies. I must have misplaced my copy of the _Pure-blood Directory_."

"Let's go back to you concocting Polyjuice just to get in the Slytherin dorms."

"Let's not."

"Oh but I'm bloody curious." He scooted closer on the rug, the shadows deepening on his high cheekbones. "Why would Hermione Granger, a girl who lives in the library more than her actual room, not think to pull a genealogy book?"

"I couldn't' find any."

He shook his head. "No, that's not it. I bet you can name every single categorization method the library uses."

"Maybe." She could.

"And." He rolled his tongue with the word. Was it just her or was she looking at his mouth far too much? "Because you know me so well, why wouldn't I just tout about how my great, great granddad was Salazar Slytherin?"

"You're missing a few greats there."

"And you're missing the point." He scooted even closer, his knee bumping hers and making Hermione look down at the impact. The heat rose to her cheeks, but Malfoy looked completely unaffected. "You tried very hard to get into the Slytherin dorms."

 _And I didn't even get in._ But she wasn't going to say that. There was a chance Malfoy didn't know that. "We thought there'd be information there, evidence of your…"

"Heritage?"

"Yes."

"So just because I was a pure-blood…"

"A _loud_ pure-blood."

His eyes glinted. "You profiled me."

"Malfoy…"

"You're not such a goodie-goodie after all."

God, he was perpetually sneering at her. And their knees were still touching. Hermione wiped her palms on her jeans, feeling them start to sweat. The room was increasingly warm, especially across from the fire and being so, so close to Malfoy. "Does that disappoint you?"

"No."

She wasn't exactly surprised by that. "It's late, right?" She didn't want to leave exactly, but she felt sweaty and overwhelmed. Hermione feigned a yawn, but her heart kept bumping on her chest. She was surging with energy and anxiety, and she needed to leave before it became just too much. Her whole body felt raw in front of him, the gunmetal grey of his eyes piercing into her without any spell. "I…it must be past midnight."

"You can come to the Slytherin dorms."

That sentence threw her.

He hadn't moved away from their contact yet, and Hermione didn't understand why. Wasn't she revolting to him? Wasn't he revolting to her? _No._ Her mind immediately shouted, remembering how broken he was, how hard he was trying just to piece his life back together in a way that made complete sense to him. "It's late."

"No one will be in the common room. Believe it or not, we're not as rowdy as Gryffindors."

She had no doubt the Gryffindor Common Room was loud and rowdy as ever. "Draco…" Why was she considering this?…and why was she nervous about the ask at all? Malfoy wouldn't hurt her there. She knew that. And he wouldn't lie about the common room being empty, so she had no worry about being seen. "It's to learn more Muggle Studies?"

He hesitated and raised an eyebrow, the sneer on his face being replaced with something…softer. "Did you have something else in mind?"

Breathing was too, too hard. Her chest was constricted and she could feel the sweat start to pool on her hairline. "Next week?"

God knows why that was her answer. Not something snarky or a flat out refusal, but _next week_? She was embarrassed to look for Draco's reaction, any hint that he also noticed that she didn't answer him directly. That in fact, her brain couldn't help but think of other things that did not involve Muggle Studies alone in a common room at night. _Draco Malfoy, Hermione. This is Draco…_

"Next week is fine. I can summon you by lemon tart again."

"I rather you not."

"Then let's say midnight," Draco said quickly. "Next week at midnight. I'll come get you from outside."

"You realize what you're doing?"

"Sneaking a girl into the common room?"

 _Girl? Is that his only concern?_ "Sneaking _me._ Girl, yes. But also, Muggle-born Gryffindor."

He narrowed his eyes. "So you don't want to meet me?"

 _NO! You don't! Hermione Jean Granger you…_ "I want to meet you."

"Great." He smiled. "If you're scared I can get you some hair. Millicent doesn't have her cat anymore, but I'm sure I can…"

She pushed Draco to the ground, but the prat just rolled on the rug and laughed.


	12. Mazes

**Chapter 12: Mazes**

 **December 18, 2017**

He was making eggs and had no idea if he was doing it right. His family had never really found a true House Elf to replace Dobby, and Astoria never minded cooking. Draco preferred baking. It reminded him of Potions, of exact ingredients and guidelines and a straight forward framework. There were rules to baking that he understood, but cooking, to say the least, was a shit-show.

Draco cracked one egg and watched it sizzle on the too hot pan. He watched until his nose twitched at the smell of sulfur and ash, and levitating the pan, he tossed the burnt egg in the bin. Another two eggs in the pan and then another two eggs in the rubbish bin. He was running through the whole carton, alternating between using magic and his own hands, but nothing seemed to be working. He made eggs that were too raw or too burnt. Eggs that stuck to the pan or fell out of the pan or had way too much salt. Draco slammed the pan in the sink, frustrated, and swept his fingers through his hair. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

How could he take care of her? How could he take care of his wife when he couldn't even cook fucking eggs?

The flame flickered on the gas stove, and Draco wandlessly, handlessly turned it off. It had been weeks, over a month, since he swallowed his pride and went to Granger, practically pleaded for her to pull whatever strings she had at the Ministry. Astoria's…condition was challenging. It was a foreign, strange magic, and Draco would have thought that in the Malfoy's exhaustive library there would be something more about bloodline curses.

Not a single fucking thing.

And although she had told him about it well before they were even married, it hadn't changed his mind. He had still wanted to marry her—the idea of having kids way, way out of the picture. And then after they were married, and his mother had brought it up…

"Draco Malfoy, you're an arsehole," he muttered to himself.

He told Astoria he would be fine. He was fine if they didn't have any children. She was _blood cursed_. Having children, he knew, could mean her life. But she wanted them. She wanted them for him and her—not Narcissa or Lucius or some crest on his wall.

And he loved Scorpius. He didn't show it but he _loved_ that boy, and he wouldn't trade him for anything, but _fuck! Astoria…_

The grandfather clock in his hallway was chiming, _one, two, three, fourteen…_ too many chimes. It was an enchanted clock from France, brought over by one of his ancestors back when people found things like giant, unwieldy clocks useful. _Sanctimonia Vincet Semper_ was carved in the dark wood. Draco had disabled most of the wards on the property—at least all the ones that killed—but a few remained. The clock that rang and rang when a Muggle or Muggle-born stepped on the property was one of them.

He had silenced the area around the master bedroom where Astoria rested, but the ringing was driving him nutty. Giving up on the eggs and gathering his breath, Draco readied his wand and Apparated outside.

He didn't want to see her today. The lawn outside was coated from a previous snowfall, and the clouds threatened to release another batch of ice. Draco cursed lightly, forgetting his winter coat or anything remotely warm and meant for the outside. He had a blazer and a jumper—all in black—and he supposed that he would have to make do. His boots cracked over the gravel of the drive, and he followed it down, hands digging into his trousers' pockets, his chest heavy with dread.

She had written him several times a week since he had talked to her, all with leads and ideas but never promises. Hermione knew better than to promise results, so she would always write who she was talking to or what book she had found and say nothing more. The fact that she came _here_ though, well, Draco didn't know what to think.

It could be good or bad. Terrible or miraculous. And maybe his mind was so confused about what he should be feeling that his thoughts decided to block all of that out. His mind floundered over this strange duality of emotions as he walked out and just stared at the brown-haired witch in front of him. She wasn't facing him. In fact, her back was completely facing the Manor, and Hermione Granger just seemed to be…relaxing. Her shoulders were low, her chin high, and Draco watched as the woman swayed a bit with the wind.

He crushed the gravel as he approached her and she turned, a little surprised. "Draco!"

"Trespassing again?" He cocked his head to the side. "Should I sic' my bird on you? Or do you have a good…"

"Do you want to get coffee with me?"

The request caught him off guard. Hermione and him…they didn't socialize. They tended to avoid each other in any possible situation where their social circles overlapped (which was luckily rare). And because of his hesitation, the witch got nervous. She grabbed at the loose curls in front of her face and twisted the ends with a glove-wrapped finger.

"I know we probably shouldn't, but, why shouldn't we? I have things I want to talk about with you, and with any other person, I would drop them an owl and meet them in some café in London."

Draco challenged the idea, unclear what her reaction would be. "I'm not any other person."

"You're not, but we're making it that way. We shouldn't act like this."

He felt angry at her words, his chest rising. "You're still a know-it-all swot."

"Sorry?"

"You're right of course. We're not teenagers. We can be seen together in public."

She smiled and nodded, still seeming to convince herself that her own idea was good. A bit of snow caught by the wind landed on her nose, and Hermione wiggled it at the cold contact. He watched her pale skin turn red, and he started to count her freckles. _One, two…_

"So you'll come with me? Is Astoria alright by herself?"

"I have a device by her bedside." He cursed at his previous thoughts. He was such a prick. Hermione could be right—they were the ones making this more than it is, this awkward interaction and all these uncalled for residual feelings. She was just a witch like any other.

"Good, good." Her cheeks flushed. She was wearing a tightly wrapped maroon scarf and a terrible beige hat that covered nearly all of her forehead. "Do you want to grab your coat? I know this place in London…"

"Could we stay in Wiltshire?"

Her eyes widened. "Wiltshire? I didn't know there were wizarding communities here."

"There aren't really, but Salisbury has a small place I go to sometimes." He knew she would be shocked by his suggestion, and he warmed at the reaction on her face, the gap of her lips and her eyes becoming wet and sleek. "Do you still hate Side-Alongs?"

"Yes."

"Well we can't Floo there." He held out his hand. Draco wasn't wearing any gloves, and he felt the flood of warmth when Hermione's knitted gloves grasped his hand.

"You're ice."

"Then we better hurry."

With a sharp _crack,_ Draco Apparated to a small, dark alley far from the cathedral or anything normally deemed important in Salisbury. Hermione shook her head, fazed a bit from the Side-Along, but the witch was soon straightening out her long wool skirt. "What's this place called?"

"Labyrinth."

She held up her colorful bag. "Do you want me to hold your wand?"

He couldn't help his eyebrows from rising. That was not a light ask. It was very _personal_ , and Hermione, who had held his wand many times before, only seemed to realize that her suggestion was rather imposing at this point in their lives. She sighed, exasperated. "I understand if you'd just want to keep it in your pocket, Draco. I just thought that since we're in the Muggle world, I could keep it here." She grabbed her bag again. "It's charmed so it can hold anything."

"Here." He gave her the thin piece of hawthorn. "But don't be mistaken about it. You didn't disarm me."

She took the wand and smiled. Her fingers lightly glided across the wood, and Draco watched her breathe slowly. Her eyes were fixated on it, on the curves and marks and grooves of wood. The snow started falling again, but Malfoy couldn't count her freckles in the light of the alley. Hermione dropped his wand in her purse. "Where's this café?"

"Follow me then."

.

.

She ordered earl grey tea, and he ordered black coffee and iced water. His throat felt dry in the winter, drier now with Hermione Granger across from him. They were seated at two small wooden chairs in the far corner of the small shop. Bookcases were carved into the wood of the walls, all filled inch and inch with Muggle authors. "You can take them if you like. The owners let you bring them home as long as you bring them back."

"And they trust you?" She took a sip from the over-sized navy mug. "Just to bring it back like that?"

"I always do." He wasn't so interested in his coffee. His hands hugged the outside of the porcelain cup, but he barely took a sip. Hermione was staring at him, giggling. "I know I have snow on me." It was all over his black blazer and hair, the melting bits getting his scalp cold.

She swallowed a giggle. "You look like you have dandruff, but it isn't that."

He scowled. "Then what is it?"

"You and here." She looked around. "You're reading Muggle books. You paid the woman at the counter in quid."

"In what?"

"Sorry, in pounds." All her teeth were showing. "I can't tell you how many times I've…" She shook her head and stole a long drink from her tea. "No, no. None of that now. We're here and we're going to act normal. Like we did before…all that."

"I can make fun of your hair if you'd like."

"I rather you not actually."

"It's still rather horrid, Hermione. Have you warned Rose? It seemed fine at King's Cross, but with her genes it's bound to be…"

"She has Ron's hair," Hermione said curtly, her nails _tap tapping_ on the hard wood of the table. "She has a lot of Ron in her."

"Let's hope not."

"Are we here to talk about my husband?" She sounded oddly harsh.

"To be honest, Hermione, I don't know why we're here." The silver ring on his left hand seemed to shine. "Have you found something?"

A slight pause. Hermione Granger straightened her shoulders and folded her hands on the table. They laid completely flat, fingers stretching across the varnished dark wood. "I actually wanted to ask you more questions. Do you mind?"

 _About Astoria?_ Hermione's eyes were big, round, and brown. "Anything that would help." Though he felt like bolting away.

"Do you know who was originally…cursed?

"No." That was an easy question. "We have no idea. No one in her family knows. I remember Daphne talking a bit about it in school, but it wasn't serious back then."

"But it's definitely a generational curse? Her whole bloodline is impacted?"

"It appears sporadically throughout the bloodline. Always a Greengrass daughter, but the last case was over two hundred years ago. Scorpius should be…" Merlin, he couldn't even think about that. "He should be exempted. He doesn't carry her name."

"That's good." Her voice was muted. "So generational blood curse. You said her symptoms worsened? Correct? Was it after she had Scorpius?"

He fidgeted. "Yes."

"I think I may have an idea…or at least I may know who to ask. I don't want to make any promises about it. First, I have to ask a few people, and even then, it could take months to even…"

"You know what it is?" His heart stopped.

"I don't. God, Draco, I really don't, but I'm trying, and _maybe_ there's something, but please don't…" Hermione exhaled long and deep. "I'll figure this out. I promise."

"Don't promise."

"I _promise_." Her voice firm and she downed the rest of her tea. Her eye contact left him and the witch was soon grabbing at her hair again. _Why is she so nervous?_ "Shacklebolt wants me to be head of the department."

 _Oh_. He knew Hermione was ambitious, that she wanted to do everything and anything she could to change the world, but he never placed her in the Ministry. He always thought she'd be teaching other swots like herself or starting unassociated groups to give brooms rights or something equally ridiculous. But, no. He should have realized, _had_ realized that she would follow her friends to the Ministry and do good within the system.

 _Of course, I thought I could do something too._ His paper napkin became crumpled, and Malfoy coughed. "Do you not want that?"

"I don't know."

"So you don't."

"It's not that job I mind."

"But the next one." He grabbed his mug of coffee again and attempted to sip it coolly while his insides were swimming. "They want you to be Minister."

"I can't be Minister."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because I don't want to be." Hermione looked around at the words, but the few patrons at Labyrinth would have no idea what they were talking about. Draco could tell by her face and body that she had never admitted that aloud before. She may have never even voiced the thoughts in her head. Hermione turned starch white and started swirling her tea. Her head fell. "Does that sound stupid? You probably think it's so stupid. The most powerful job in our world, and I'm…"

"I don't think it sounds stupid." Draco grabbed her wrist, stopping the witch from mindlessly stirring. Hermione jerked back in his grip but then relaxed, catching his eyes. Draco swallowed. "I think your bloody brilliant and you know what's best for you."

"But everyone expects…"

"Fuck that, Hermione. Since when have you been happy doing what everyone expects?"

Silence again. She avoided his face and stared at her tea, while Draco shifted, uncomfortable in the cozy café. Hermione sniffed. "This won't work, will it?"

"What?"

"You and I." Hermione still wouldn't look up. "We'll never just be normal. I thought that if we talked and acted…"

"Why is it so important to you? At the end of the day, I'll go back to the Manor and you'll go back to London, and we'll still both be happy." A thought struck him. "You _are_ happy, aren't you?"

"Yes." It was practically a whisper. "Of course I am."

"Then there's no problem. If you don't want to be Minister, don't be. If you're happy, keep doing what you're doing, but if you're not, do something to change it. We don't have to be friends."

"But…"

"Let me put it this way, I don't expect us to be friends. We never were."

"I thought it would be nice, Draco."

"This doesn't exactly feel nice." He bit back.

"Then what are we?" Hermione moved her hand. He was still holding her wrist.

"We're nothing."


	13. Danger

A/N:

This one is a bit lengthy.

* * *

 **Chapter 13: Danger**

 **October 9, 1998**

"People are staring."

"People always stare at me."

"But not in this way…do they?"

"Well, no. Usually it's more about me and less about who I'm with."

Hermione grimaced. "I wholly doubt that people stare at me like this normally."

"They do. Not like this either, but people stare at you. You're decently pretty for someone who doesn't care about her appearance." Pansy was faced down in her parchment. She glanced up at the pause in their conversation. "Don't act all modest and shocked. You know you are."

"Pansy, I…"

"Stop it, Hermione. You know very well that you're pretty. You know how to dress and do your hair if you cared to. You just don't care to. No one you're trying to impress?"

She refused to answer that, especially since the person who popped into her brain was not an acceptable answer of any kind. "I impress enough people as is."

"So not modest." Pansy looked back to the parchment again. They were seated across from each other at the far end of the Hufflepuff table, deeming that neutral ground though some fifth year Hufflepuff girls were not too pleased. "We agreed on October 31st?"

Hermione ate a spoonful of mushy peas. "That is Halloween."

"Yeah, yeah, okay. So October 31st, and obviously it will be in here. Once in my life, I'd like to go to an event outside of Hogwarts, but it's too cold and too hard to plan on such short notice. I've already talked to the elves about the menu and…"

"What about an after party outside?"

"Sorry?" The petite witch blinked and stopped her scribbled writing. "An after party?"

"Outside of Hogwarts. We could have it at the Three Broomsticks, set up a Portkey, have it only for the students of age."

A smile curled on Pansy's lips. "Well no wonder they call you brilliant. Nothing says unity liking getting pissed together."

Hermione actually couldn't agree more. Feelings tended to get rawer when a little butterbeer was involved. The Great Hall was clearing out, but Hermione and Pansy stayed at the table, getting more done than they could last Saturday. Pansy had woken up hungover and tired, and Hermione had woken up…confused by Draco Malfoy. She hadn't gotten a lot of sleep about it, about what he had asked and where they were supposed to meet _tonight_. It was silly and stupid to think it would be anything more than what they normally did—sit and talk and try figure out what Dumbledore wanted from them. Hermione still had no idea what she could be hiding in her brain, what she needed to protect with Occlumency.

She had wanted to learn the skill for purely selfish reasons—because it was hard and challenging, and who was she to back away from a challenge? She had excelled at every piece of magic she ever touched, but Occlumency was different. She didn't get it. She didn't understand it.

 _Like Malfoy_.

Hermione bit her lip and looked guiltily at Pansy. "I can plan the afterparty."

"It'll be the only bit you actually plan, so sounds good to me. You've finished Gryffindor's book?"

"Yes." She had completed the thing on Wednesday. Although not exactly a book she would…recommend, she definitely learned a lot. "We're not holding all the traditions, are we?"

"Well, I'm not insisting that a relative chaperone every witch around. That's just archaic. And I think the bit about carrying a white lily to prove you're a virgin could be considered slut shaming."

"At the very least." Hermione swirled her goblet of pumpkin juice. "And the whole concept of _the Pairing_ is utterly…"

"Oh, we're doing that."

She stiffened. She had thought Samhain was a tradition based on remembering the dead and killing cattle for winter, but apparently the young aristocrats of the wizarding world also deemed it a prime opportunity to make marriage clauses. "The younger students can't get involved with that."

"Everyone under sixth year will have a curfew at 9:30. We can do _the Pairing_ at 10, and then start your after party around 11."

"But…"

Pansy wasn't hearing it. "It's a costume party, Hermione. You won't know who anyone is, so it's hardly embarrassing. Everyone knows it's an old tradition anyway." She rolled her eyes. "Look, clearly it's not the most modern thing, but it's a must for a Samhain party. It represents the continuation of life before the cold, dead winter."

"And here I thought it was an opportunity to barter with something other than vegetables and sheep."

"That too." The pure-blood witch's grin quickly morphed into a tight pout. "Your Gryffindor friends seem to think highly of me."

Hermione turned around. Ginny and a few girls from the year below her were standing towards the entrance, staring at the pair with less than ecstatic looks on their faces. Hermione shrugged. "They're just waiting for me."

"Between me and Draco, they'll think you're a Slytherin convert. Come join the dark side."

She could really focus on only one of those thoughts. "Draco?"

"The rumors? That you're shagging? Surely you've heard them. I know you're helping him with Muggle Studies, but we always jump to _sex, sex, sex_ , don't we? Randy bunch."

"I'm not shagging him."

"Merlin, I know that." Pansy started folding her parchment, not looking incredibly convinced by her own words. "But it's okay if you are."

 _What?_

Pansy continued, "We're not dating anymore, and you're not dating Ron Weasley. _I_ don't want to shag him, so it's okay if you do."

"And that's all that matters? That you don't want to shag him?" She could have choked.

"No." Pansy's face was cat-like. "All that matters is if _you do_. I'll see you tomorrow? Let's meet here again. It's bloody chilly outside. I don't know how the Scots take it."

And then the witch just pranced off, leaving Hermione with…with _that_. Hermione swirled her juice again before taking a long sip. She looked to Ginny, and the red head gave a slight wave. Hermione managed a smile back and got up from the bench. A gnawing thought was in her head, one that she had been thinking about for a while now.

The dark side didn't really seem that dark at all.

.

.

 **October 9, 1998**

She was thirteen minutes late when she started walking towards the dungeons. The halls were empty after midnight, and even though one or two teachers and ghosts caught her walking, no one bothered to stop her or deduct points. Priorities had shifted since last year, and the probability of someone caring that Hermione Granger was roaming the halls after curfew was basically zero.

Though she cared. She squirmed and fidgeted and jumped at every turn. And as she walked down the stairs and started to feel the damp of the dungeons, Hermione had half the mind to just turn back, go to sleep, and pretend this never happened. It was already hard enough to lie to her friends and say that McGonagall had something she needed to do. They were all still in the common room, drinking smuggled butterbeer, and being every bit the definition of rowdy. Pillows had been thrown, alcohol spilt, and Hermione was rather anxious to leave. She was also incredibly anxious about where she was headed.

The blond wizard was leaning against a solid stone wall, arms crossed, head down so that the unmanageable bits of his hair fell forward. Draco was dressed more traditionally today—a grey V-neck jumper with a loose green and silver tie. His arms unfolded, and his long fingers started to play with his silver ring. "You're surprisingly late."

"Had a hard time leaving." Hermione rubbed her elbow and took slow, planned steps towards him. She consciously tried not to play with hair, consciously tried not to be nervous as hell, but she was. _Curiosity killed the Kneazle._ "You know Gryffindors and our partying."

"You should have been in Ravenclaw."

"The hat did suggest it quickly."

"Me too." He looked up, gauging her reaction which she was sure came off as quite surprised. Draco continued, "Maybe the idea of having houses wasn't the best."

"What do you mean?"

"Surrounding yourself with like-minded people? No one to make you think. No one to make you question."

It sounded like he wanted to say more, say something about her and what they were doing, but he didn't. Hermione swallowed at the dead words and looked around the empty hall. "That'd be no fun. I wouldn't be able to sneak into common rooms."

"I'm inviting you. That barely counts as sneaking."

"Don't ruin this for me."

"Oh?" He quirked an eyebrow and stood straight. "Should I go in now? Make you guess the password and pretend to be shocked and furious when you get in?"

For some reason, that didn't sound too unappealing.

Malfoy snorted. "Seriously? You like that idea? Who knew you'd be so into roleplay."

The heat rose to her cheeks immediately. Hermione moved next to him, ignoring whatever embarrassment flooded through her, and touched the stone next to him. Malfoy's eyes were on her, the darkness exaggerating how silver and bright and cutting they were. "So what is it?"

"Hm?"

"The password? Is it something horrendous like _Purity_ or _Gryffindors suck_?"

" _Gryffindor sucks_. I should suggest that."

"Malfoy…"

"You're at the wrong wall." He reached and grabbed her hand, his cold palm slipping easily against her incredibly warm skin. Her back tightened at the contact, the flush deepening, blossoming and coloring her face bright pink. Draco walked to the other side and placed her hand on the stone. "You can feel it, right?"

 _Feel what?_ She could feel her heart in her stomach. She could feel his fingers move and shift between her own. She could feel the _pump, pump, pump_ of his chest, and her words caught. "…huh?"

"The fire. If you press your hand hard enough, you can feel the Common Room's fire. It's the only signal you'll get. Do you feel it?"

 _I feel…something._ But a simple fire was not it. Her whole body felt like burning and freezing continuously, this white noise _hum_ immobilizing coherent thought in her head. _Maybe this is how I can be an Occlumens_. She stole a look at the wizard next to her. He seemed serious, thoughtful. He was tall and lean and still too pale, but Hermione found herself not minding that much anymore. _He's an arse. He's such an arse._ Though she didn't really mind that much either.

" _Leviathan,"_ Malfoy whispered against the wall, and the stones fell into each other, folding over much like the path from the main streets of London to Diagon Alley.

The moving stones did not reveal a large room or anything that she thought would resemble a common room. Instead, it revealed another dark hallway with one wooden door at the far end. "Come on then." He tugged at her hand, still not loosening his grip.

Hermione felt it hard to move. "You're sure no one's in there?"

"Positive."

"But...how? It's a Friday. Don't Slytherins hang out with each other?"

"We do. On Saturdays mostly. Rumor has it that Salazar was incredibly interested in his students being studious and thought the weekdays were restricted to that."

Hermione blinked. "Meaning?"

"The dorms are enchanted to lock at 11. Anyone outside can't get in until 3AM."

"A bit harsh."

"No one said being a Slytherin was easy."

 _I know your life wasn't_. She couldn't help the thought. In most ways, Draco Malfoy's life was easy. In the best ways. He was rich. He was smart. He was…attractive and born into a high station. His parents loved him with a ferocity even Hermine couldn't ignore, but there was the other side too. His life was also following things you didn't quite understand. To be pressured and pushed and threatened to do things you didn't want to do. It was about growing up too early, being torn apart too quickly, and having your world and normality shaken.

Draco cleared his throat, clearly expecting Hermione to say something witty but nothing came to mind. He started walking towards the door. "Your palms are sweaty."

"Sorry."

Draco didn't drop her hand. "Nervous?"

"What do I have to be nervous about?"

He paused before shrugging and turned the handle to the wooden door.

She was met with a red fire crackling and blaring in the circular room. Hermione had expected it to be cold and dark and bland. She expected no personality, no _life,_ but what was actually there completely floored her.

It was both cold and dark, but not bland. Despite the red blast of fire, the whole room was cast in a deep glow of green. Tapestries hung practically over every inch of the stone wall, and the red fire was encased by a large fireplace, a proud snake carved over the mantle. The furniture was leather and expensive, and while the Gryffindor Common Room was still packed with students, there was no one besides her and Malfoy in this room. There were shelves of books, dimly lit candles, and vials of liquids with glasses on the corner.

"Pumpkin juice." Draco must have seen her wandering eye. "Do you want some?"

"I'm okay," She said although her throat felt dry. It seemed that all possible moisture that she should have been retaining retreated to her sweaty, sweaty hand. She wished Malfoy would drop it and allow her to wipe her palm on her jeans, but he didn't still. He took her around the perimeter of the circular room. "These tapestries…"

"They're medieval—all of famous Slytherins."

"The one over there is your family's?"

Draco stopped and blinked at her. "Yes."

"The hair gave it away."

He smirked. "The one over there is my mother's."

The one over there, to the direct left of the fireplace, had the words _Toujours Pur_ written in fluid silver thread. More prominently above that writing, something Hermione should have noticed first, was the name Black. She had forgotten that Draco, in the strict definition of the word, was half a Black. That, in truth, his mother and Sirius had been cousins.

Hermione moved a curl behind an ear with her free hand. "Am I supposed to compliment your pedigree?"

"It's quite impressive, but no. Not you. You're supposed to put me in line." He tilted his angular face towards a door. "Girls' dorms are over there to the right of the fireplace. The boys are to the left. There are enchantments up. No one will hear us."

"This would be quite the mark on your reputation."

"More yours. Granger, you're a saint. I know I want this relationship to go public, but are you sure you do? You're not afraid of what your friends will say?"

 _Relationship?_ Why was that the word she was stuck on? Why was she staring at him and tracing the angles of his face? Or the way his eyes looked stormy and deep and _alive_ in the dark? The green light from the lake should have made him look sickly, but he instead looked dangerous.

 _Is dangerous the right word?_ Hermione bit her lip. She had thought Malfoy was dangerous last year and sixth year, back when he was working with Voldemort and had too much to lose. Dangerous was a word to describe dragons and dark wizards and bad planning, but it still held true. He was dangerous. And even though she knew there was no way Malfoy would hurt her, Hermione was petrified of him.

"Granger? Did you have an aneurysm?"

"No." She shook her head, realizing how long she had been silent. "No, no. I don't care about the public. Harry and Ron won't like it, but what does that really matter?"

"I would think you would care more about them."

"I do care about them, but they're not silly enough to question our friendship over my wanting to help you. Well, maybe Ron is but he needs to get over that."

Hermione watched his Adam's apple bob. "My book is on the table over there, but I have an assignment too."

"An assignment?"

"Let's sit first." He loosened his grip on her hand and moved over to the two black leather couches. They were tufted with silver buttons, velvet green pillows leaning against the arms of the elegant furniture. The couches banked the fireplace and there was a small, oval coffee table in the center. Draco's text was already on the table and Hermione leaned to pick it up, deeming it a suitable distraction from her anxiety. The blond wizard was expressionless. His left hand played with his thick metal ring as he sat down on one of the couches, back slouched, legs stretched out in front of him. His Slytherin tie was loose around his neck, and Hermione had the strangest itch to reach out and grab it, to feel the green silk underneath her touch. And that itch got even _stranger_ and focused on the white skin of his neck, his collarbone, and the (imagined) firmness of his chest and stomach.

 _Hermione, you're bonkers. You're absolutely loony._ She wrung her hands together and sat on the other couch across from him. Not near him. Not, not, not near him.

"All the Muggle-born students were asked to write a complete essay on their lives before knowing they were a wizard. Ridiculous that Muggle-borns are allowed to take that class. It's like a mandrake taking herbology." Her eyes widened, and Draco backpedaled, "Not that I…fuck, Granger. I know you're not a plant."

"I know." A bit of her anxiety gave away and she grinned. "Nice to see you writhe a bit though."

His face darkened.

"Keep going, Malfoy. What do you have to do?"

"Interview you."

" _Me_?"

"Not you. Your ego would like that, wouldn't it?"

" _My_ ego?"

"Sh! Hermione." He held a long finger over his mouth. "This is a common room."

She sunk deeper into the leather. Despite her initial impression that it would be cold and stiff, she actually found it heated and supple. "Sorry."

His smile became twisted. "No one can hear you. Yell all you want. I encourage it."

"Prat."

Draco ignored the insult. "So you'll let me interview you? There aren't any Muggle-borns in Slytherin."

"How personal will this get?"

"Horrifyingly so. I'll probably have to _Obliviate_ myself afterwards."

"Oh, I can do that for you. Not a problem." She felt blood on her lip. Despite her levity, Hermione was shaking. Her chest was tight and hurting from what he was asking her. She wasn't too fond of one-sided questioning. "Or you could answer the questions too."

Draco chuckled and took out his wand and whispered _Accio_ for a scroll of parchment and a quill. "Full name?"

"Hermione Jean Granger."

"Draco Lucius Malfoy." Draco scratched on the parchment.

His answer surprised her, the fact that he actually _responded_ more than the actual information. _I guess we're doing this then._ She swallowed again and used her own wand to bring two glasses of pumpkin juice to the coffee table. "My mouth's a bit dry."

Draco took a sip. "Is Jean your mother's name?"

"No. Grandmother's."

"Father's. Hermione, this is idiotic."

"You don't have to answer the questions I already know the answers to." She crossed her arms. "Or ask me questions you already know."

"I didn't know your middle name was Jean. You knew mine was Lucius?"

"I could have guessed."

Draco snorted, and Hermione was suddenly reminded of his namesake—not the constellation but the creature. She wondered if he hoarded something completely odd like empty ink wells or broken snitches. _Broken snitches, for sure._ She thought of Quidditch games then, and how when she wasn't watching Ron or Harry, her eyes usually fell to him. He was…elegant on a broom. Elegant and fast in a way that her friends weren't. He would dip and dive but half the time just sit there and float—sit there and _think._

He was calculating and icy. He was ruthless and fierce, but she had watched him. She had watched him _every time._

"Where were you born?"

"Hammersmith Hospital—in London."

"Wiltshire."

"In the Manor?" She could picture the Malfoy's having something equivalent to a birthing bed, some disgusting mattress where heir after heir was delivered. Hermione thought back to Geraldine Gryffindor's book and the importance of breeding—the importance of _toujours pur_. And then she thought of Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy and how they were parents not too unlike her own. That, instead of one daughter, they had one son. And they loved him. They _loved_ , which was something true evil could never do.

"Yes. Your background?"

"Background?"

"You're English—I know that. But Muggles come from other places sometimes before they end up where they are, don't they?"

"Oh, uh, yes. Well, I'm not completely sure. My family has always lived in England, but the name Granger has French origins."

His scribbling halted. "It does?"

"Yes. Your family is French too?"

"The Malfoys are originally. The Blacks are…ancient."

"Yes. Walburga does remind me."

Pumpkin juice spilled over his lips, and Hermione watched his tongue swipe over them quickly before Malfoy edged up on his seat. "Walburga Black? My dead, ninny great aunt? You've met her?"

"Absolutely not. Only her portrait. Harry owns 12 Grimmauld Place now, you know." The arch of Draco's eyebrows said he didn't. "She doesn't really like when I come over."

"She shouldn't be there. _Potter_ shouldn't be there either."

She felt angered by the statement. "And why shouldn't he? The place was Sirius's. It only makes sense that…"

"No. It was not _just_ Sirius's. It is the house of the Black family. Potter is a _Potter_. He has his own ancestral home."

"You're missing the point. Harry was _Sirius's._ He was his family in everything but name."

"And name is everything, Granger." His eyes were liquid silver—bright and burning as they cut through her. She saw the blue veins in his neck, the sharp cuts of his collarbone over the loose white button down under his jumper. His hands fidgeted with the tie on his neck, and Hermione, infuriated, wanted to take that cloth and throw it in the fire. Instead, she allowed Malfoy to speak. "Like it or not, a name means a lot. Your name is more valuable than mine. No, don't argue. It is. So maybe _reputation_ is everything, but that house has turned. Potter shouldn't associate with it. 12 Grimmauld Place should be burned down with the old era of our world."

"I don't think so."

Draco coughed. "What?"

"Burning it would be forgetting. I obviously don't agree with Walburga or probably many others of the Black family, but that place had good wizards too. Siruis, Andromeda." Another swallow. "…your mum."

The wizard looked up at her words, surprised but interested. His mouth tensed, shoulders hunched, and Draco Malfoy was about to speak when the room went dark. Hermione combed her eyes over the giant shadow covering the walls and painting Draco's hair coal grey.

"What the…" She took the excuse and stood from her seat on the couch. Hermione wandered over to the circular windows, to the bright expanse of the Great Lake. It was an aching color, a memorizing scene of green and blue water rushing and rippling against the walls of the dungeon. Her eyes tried to take all of it in—the slight glow of fish, the rocking movements of kelp and sea grass, the _pat pat_ sound of the water lapping against the walls. It was enchanting. She was enchanted. "Draco…"

He was by her side quickly, expression serious, lips a thin line straight across his face. Hermione couldn't help but smile, her breath stuttering at the sight of a giant squid whizzing by. She shook her head. "This place is…it's nothing like I thought."

"Is that a good thing?"

Her eyes fell back to him, and he was only looking at her. He was too close, his breath and shadow and body just too, too warm. The water behind the glass swayed and rocked as she leaned closer. It would have been calming except…except…

"Yes."

"I didn't even think you'd come."

"Why?" She felt herself give into the heat of him, the hardness of his arm and shoulder. She leaned gently against his left side, expecting him to move and brush her away, but he didn't.

 _Dangerous. This is dangerous._ His eyes almost looked green in the light of the lake, and they were outlined by purple and blue circles, the darkness of the skin showing he hadn't been sleeping well even now that he was safe. Draco placed his hand on the glass. "Because you don't like me."

Her hand followed, flushed with his. They looked tiny and tan in comparison. "Is that a question?"

"You like me?"

"Yes."

"Yes." Draco whispered before his hand moved to touch her own, before she felt this spark of cold and electricity run through her spine and brain and toes. "Do you know why?"

"No."

"Me either." His voice was low, his eyes heavy, and she felt her breathing spike. A part of her body wanted to run, push him away and just _sprint_. But instead she found herself moving her hands to his tie, tracing the pattern of _green and silver, green and silver,_ and thinking about how incredibly different that was. Draco grabbed her wrists and her breath caught.

 _This is dangerous. This is dangerous. This is…_

She kissed him.

He was warm against her, malleable, his lips velvet and wet and tart. Her feet edged to her toes to reach him more, to press harder as her hands felt the silk-smooth of his tie, the rough wool of his jumper. She kissed him, and then she felt her body stiffen with shock and foreign throbs that were…were…

"Malfoy." She edged away, lips burning, dry and hurting with the sudden cold air. Hermione was sweating all over, nervous as hell at what she just did, at the expressionless look on Draco's face. "Malfoy, I don't know why I did that. I don't. God, I didn't mean to! Draco..." She took a step back. Her mind was absolute mush. "Draco, please say something."

His face was still blank and bone white. His gasps were deep from heavy breathing, and his eyes were pale as he took a step even closer. She hated how she couldn't read him.

"Draco? Say something. _Say something._ "

His mouth edged to a scowl, and her heart sank deep into her gut as she watched him run fingers through his hair, turn from her, and start to pace.

 _Damn it._

She broke him. Hermione Granger had broken Draco Malfoy. He looked shattered, confused, a complete and utter _mess,_ and it was all because she couldn't keep her libido in check. "Draco, crap, I'm sorry. I'll just go. I'll do your assignment for you. I just didn't mean to ruin this…" _Whatever this is._ "I just…" _I like you. I don't know why but I like you, and I wanted to kiss you._

He stopped pacing, and his fists clenched. In one single rush, Draco carved the distance between them and placed his hands on her cheeks. "Fuck it."

His lips tasted like lemons.


	14. An Invitation

A/N:

Getting ready for Christmas! All the present this time. I find the interactions between the families super fun, and I hope you do too!

* * *

 **Chapter 14: An Invitation**

 **December 24, 2017**

Scorpius came back from Hogwarts completely unlike himself. It was odd, really. The boy had been a quiet child for the first decade of his life, and now, after one semester of school, he was talking and raving and eating far too sloppily at the table.

"Scorpius, slow down. You'll give yourself a stomachache." Astoria reached for the pitcher and poured more water for herself and her son.

Draco sat at the head of the dining room table flanked by his family. They had sausages, eggs, and scones laid out for breakfast, but he barely felt like eating. He felt satisfied enough that his wife had protein on her plate—that his wife seemed to be _eating_ what was on her plate, although it was a little forced looking.

"I eat almost triple this much at Hogwarts."

"You'll get fat at Hogwarts." Draco sipped his pumpkin juice. It tasted too sweet and he reached for the French press.

"Draco!"

"How are your studies?" Draco pushed away a rather atrocious article in _The Prophet_ concerning panics of another dark wizard revival _._ That rag was becoming more despicable by the day.

"Fine. I don't know if I'm learning everything, but Professor Slughorn says I show promise. He says when I'm older, I can come to some club-thing he has after classes if I still do as well."

Draco couldn't help the smirk. _About bloody time._ His wife looked on proudly at their son. "And you feel like you're adjusting? You've mentioned Albus, but any other young witches or wizards that have the pleasure of calling you friend?"

"Not really."

That didn't surprise him. Scorpius was quiet, reserved. He liked books too much and knowing things others didn't even more. Scorpius looked embarrassed at his mother and turned to face him instead. Astoria had been popular at school. She had been a prefect Draco's last year and Head Girl after he left, and he knew she had lots of friends even though their circles barely intersected while students. Scorpius knew his father had…less luck towards his last years. The words fell out before he could stop them. "What about Rose?"

"Rose? Albus' cousin?"

That was not the relation Draco would have used to describe her, but he nodded.

"Oh. Well, she doesn't like me."

Astoria's face darkened—an expression Draco was unfortunately on the other side of too often. "And why wouldn't she like you? You are a perfectly nice boy."

"Well…I…"

"It's because you're a Malfoy." Draco snorted and took another sip of his coffee. The bitterness relaxed his tongue and he took another drag. "It's alright, Scorpius. Just get better marks. It'll put her in line."

"I do get better marks."

"Perfect. That's enough to annoy her."

"But I don't want to _annoy_ her. I want her to like me."

"Why?" Draco blinked and then started when his wife threw a blueberry scone at his chest. "Astoria!" He brushed the crumbs off his trousers. _Bloody crazy…_

"I'll write his mother a letter." Astoria patted her lips with her napkin. "I'm sure the last thing Hermione Granger wants is her daughter persecuting another student."

Scorpius sighed. "Rose's dad said her granddad would have a fit if she married a pure-blood. I'm _twelve_. I can't get married for another six years!"

"Hopefully longer than that." Draco was doing everything he could to not glower at his wife and her plan to write to Hermione. Write to Hermione. She should not even remember Hermione _existed_.

"Even more of a reason. Discriminating against another wizard based on _blood status_? Outrageous! Have we just gone back two decades?" His wife stood and leaned on the chair a bit before collecting her strength. "Excuse me, but I'll be in the library."

"Speaking of discrimination, Scorpius, your grandfather and grandmother are coming for supper. Could you wear your ring and uniform?"

"But Dad…"

"Sorry, does Albus try that on Potter? I phrased it as a question to be nice, but wear your ring and uniform. It'll make things a bit easier for your mother."

"Fine." The boy moved around some of his eggs with his fork. Scorpius seemed sad, his face long and eyes cool. "Is that why she doesn't like me? Because of my blood?"

Astoria turned from the doorway, furious, and then stomped to the library. Draco flicked his son's nose. "No. She doesn't like you because she's too young to think for herself. Your blood is exactly the same. She'll learn." He leaned back on the chair and desperately searched for a decent article in the paper. Instead he found an advertisement for _Weaselys' Wizard Wheezes._ "Her father's a complete buffoon."

.

.

Ron Weasley had been gone all night, and she didn't know where he had been. This had been the sixth time he had gone without warning, the sixth time she had pretended to be asleep when he left late at night and when he came back in the early morning.

Her eyes popped open when she heard the steady, soft snore from his body, and Hermione edged up in her bed, hands flat on the mattress. The third time she had "woken up" when he got back, but Ron had made some excuse about letting the owl out to send a letter for business.

It was getting worse. She ignored the weird behavior early on, but now his schedule was completely erratic. He would sleep too late during the weekdays and get up too early on weekends. He was rarely home for dinner. Hugo had noticed early on. Her son had asked her if everything was okay at work since Dad was never around, and Hermione didn't know what to say.

Everything was okay as far as she knew. She hadn't heard of any dark magic at the Ministry, although she didn't really venture from her own desk except to see Harry and, more often, Pansy. Her mind couldn't even process if something marginally equivalent to Voldemort were on the horizon. But she was pretty sure Harry would tell her. She would throttle him if he didn't.

Her husband…she was less sure. They hadn't talked much lately. Hadn't done anything but cold kisses and slight smiles to each other for months now. Rose had been a welcomed distraction when she came back last week, the little red-head practically bouncing with excitement from Hogwarts and raving on about how many friends she made. She really was the best of both of them. Rose had Ron's easiness and charm but Hermione's wit and spunk. She was a little hell-raiser, but Hermione loved her for it.

Hugo, surprisingly, had not been as enthused. He listened patiently to his sister's chatter over dinner when she first got back, and then asked if he could be walked to Billy Buxton's flat. Mr. Buxton was an engineer (not the type that works with trains, Hugo once explained), and his son Billy had a large collection of Legos that Hugo just adored.

She had bought Hugo two large Lego sets for Christmas. Ron had looked at the things in confusion and then asked when they were getting Rose a broom.

The sun was peeking through the curtains to their bedroom when Hermione finally decided to get up and leave her husband in bed. The wooden floors of their flat were hard and cold, and Hermione slipped on blue slippers before walking to the kitchen to make coffee.

A small figure was already seated in a chair, a cold looking mug of hot chocolate clutched in her hands. The lights were low, but she could still see her daughter outlined in the dark. "Rose." Hermione yawned before walking over and smoothing down her daughter's hair. "You can still boil water the Muggle way. I know you can't use magic outside of school, but drinking cold chocolate can't taste very good."

"It tastes fine."

Hermione knew when her daughter was lying and set the kettle on the stove. She cast a _Muffliato_ to silence the ringing for her son and husband. "Well, I would like some hot coffee. You can have some of the water if there's any left."

Her daughter remained quiet with her head down. Rose was pretty and bubbly and vibrant. To see her looking stiff and upset made Hermione's heart wrench. The older witch sat down next to her daughter. "Do you want to tell me more about school? Have a favorite class yet?"

"It's okay." The little girl took a sip of her hot chocolate and made a face.

 _Something's wrong._

"Well, I always liked Arithmancy. It's not a required class, but I highly recommend you take it. Divination is…useful for some things, but Arithmancy actually makes sense of it all. Why rely on tea leaves when you can rely on numbers that will actually mean…"

"Mum." Rose exhaled. "You told me you were bullied a bit, right?"

She had said that, hadn't she? It was back when Rose was in Primary and some boy made fun of her freckles. Her thoughts immediately went to Draco. Her thoughts had been going there a lot actually. "Is someone bullying you, Rose?"

"No," she responded quickly and then walked to turn the stovetop off for her mother. Hermione thanked her and began setting up the press when her daughter spoke again, "Is Albus coming today?"

"We're going to the Potters on Christmas. My mum and dad are coming tonight for dinner."

"Oh, good."

 _Good?_ Albus and Rose had been best friends, and the relief on her daughter's face was disheartening. "I have some leftover water Rose."

"What did he do?"

"Who?"

"Your bully. What did he do to you?"

That was a loaded question if she were ever asked one. How could she respond to that? That he had called her terrible, hurtful, spiteful things? That she had vehemently hated his entire being for half a decade? That he wished her dead? That in the darkest of times, she had wished he had never been born?

Or should she jump ahead and tell her that he had been her everything for a year? That he was nothing like she had expected and was smart and witty and so, so fervent that it still made her warm? That he made her feel like conquering the world would be easy? That he…

"He did a lot to me." Hermione plunged the water and tried to steady herself by leaning on the counter. "He was cruel at times, but it was to hide his own pain, Rose. He was defensive and didn't know any better."

"And did you forgive him for doing that stuff to you? Could you forgive him?"

"I forgave him." She poured the coffee into her cup and took a heavy sip. The liquid burned her throat and sparked her back to the present and not on blond hair and grey eyes. "Is this about Albus?"

There was a long pause, and it wasn't until Hermione sat back down that her daughter whispered, "Yes."

"What happened?"

"I've been mean to him. I know how Dad feels about Slytherin, and when he was sorted…" Rose sighed. "I couldn't _believe_ it. I thought he was _good_."

"He is good. There are many good wizards that were in Slytherin, and even some bad wizards that were in Gryffindor. I thought you knew better than that."

"But…but he's friends with a _Malfoy_. Dad always…"

"Dad is barmy." Hermione almost hit herself for saying that out loud. "You can be friends with a Malfoy. In fact, I encourage it."

Rose stiffened. "Really you do?" Her daughter blushed. "I think…I think he may fancy me."

"Oh." Hermione stared at her daughter and saw her bright eyes. She saw how her hair frizzed out and the papercuts on her fingers from too many books. She saw _herself_ and wrapped her hands around the mug of hot coffee. "Well, I can't say I encourage that."

.

.

"Can I take your coat, Narcissa?"

"Where's the House Elf?"

"Oh, we dismissed them all last year—those that wanted to be dismissed. We still have a few outside who like to tend the garden and one that's training at the culinary academy but spends holidays cooking here. Is that mink, Narcissa? It's lovely. Positively…"

"Draco."

He flinched at his mother's sharp tone and downed the remainder of his firewhisky. Scorpius was in front of him, a shield. Though his parents usually just tolerated Astoria, they absolutely adored their grandson. "Yes, Mum?"

"It's entirely too cold in this house. Do you have a warming charm?"

"I have the fire working."

"A _warming_ charm, Draco. Astoria, you must know one. Please cast it."

His wife's eyes grew. She hadn't cast a spell in over a year. "My wand's on me." Draco removed the piece of hawthorn from his pocket and muttered the charm. The house filled with a bloom of sudden heat. Scorpius wiped his forehead.

"Come here, boy." His father leaned a bit more on his cane now, a leather clad hand outstretched.

Scorpius moved from in front of Draco and gave a curt nod. "Sir."

Lucius Malfoy dragged the boy to a tight hug, patting his back. "Welcome to Slytherin, Scorpius. Can I see your wand?"

The boy nodded and handed his grandfather his wand. "Ash and unicorn hair."

"Fair enough. I hear your studies are going well. That's good. Perhaps you can be Head Boy unlike your father."

"Sorry, was quite busy seventh year." Draco smirked, happy that they came to a point where they could make mild jokes about that fucked up part of his childhood. It had been…hard to understand them and get over it, but he loved his parents. There had been a few years when he hadn't spoken to them, but that was a long time ago.

"Astoria." Narcissa Malfoy shrugged off her mink coat and handed it to his wife. "You were Head Girl, weren't you? Hopefully Scorpius has some of you in him."

"I…yes." Astoria's eyes welled. Her hands rubbed the soft fur of the mink. "I'll put this away. Excuse me." She shuffled off deeper into the house, and Draco gave his mother a quick hug.

"That was actually nice of you."

"I _do_ like the girl. She may have terrible taste in decorating, but she's the mother of my grandson." Her lips pursed and she gave a quick glance to Scorpius before lowering her voice. "How is she?"

"Better…today. She's been in good spirits since Scorpius has arrived from school."

She kissed her son's cheek. "We're here if you need anything."

"I know."

There was a soft peck at the door, and then an envelope zipped through the letter box.

"Weird time for post," Narcissa commented.

Draco grabbed the letter from the air. The address got his attention immediately. "It's from 12 Grimmauld Place."

"Why would Harry Potter be writing you?" His father asked. _Fair question._

He moved his finger under the seal, popping the envelope open, and an invitation hovered to his eye level. The parchment was red, but the words were written in silver ink.

 _To Draco, Astoria, and Scorpius Malfoy,_

 _The Potters cordially invite you to a small Christmas celebration at number 12 Grimmauld Place. Please arrive before 7:30 PM via Apparation (the portraits do not appreciate all who Floo!)._

 _Happy Christmas!_

 _Harry, Ginny, James, Albus, and Lily_

"Oh! Can we go! I've been meaning to give Albus a book we have here."

Lucius seemed interested. "Scorpius, are you friends with Albus _Potter_?"

"Yes," he admitted easily, "He's my best friend."

To Draco's astonishment, his father nodded approvingly. "Good connections. Excellent connections."

His son beamed and then turned back to him, eyes begging. "Please Dad? We can still drink hot chocolate and read after the party."

"Scorpius…" He didn't want to go. The invitation implied the party would be "small" but small to Potter and Ginny Weasley probably meant under fifty people. He rather not deal with that. Draco saw a thin piece of parchment stuck deeper in the envelope. Draco pulled it out and saw the messy scrawl of Harry Potter.

 _Malfoy,_

 _I won't pretend this wasn't an afterthought because you won't believe it and it was. Albus can't stop talking about Scorpius and he's been a little dour, so even if you could just drop the kid off, I'd appreciate it._

 _P.S. You're welcome to stay. We have a Quidditch match every year in the yard, and I'd love to thrash you again._

 _P.P.S. Hermione will be there, but that shouldn't matter._

"Go, Draco. It's good press." Narcissa looked to the parchment in his hand. "And clearly you want to."

"I do," Draco said and folded the parchment into his pocket. "Scorpius, tell your gran about the wizard's chess club you plan on starting."

"What!" Lucius stiffened. "What about Quidditch!"

* * *

A/N:

 _The Lost Years: Christmas Special_ is in the works, ha. Hopefully it'll be done in time! Thanks all!


	15. Sundaes

**Chapter 15: Sundaes**

 **October 12, 1998**

Ignoring her was never a problem. It had been the weekend anyway, and all he needed to do was stay in the dorms for forty-eight hours and think about everything else later.

Masterful plan…if it weren't for Blaise catching him on the common room's couch Friday night. Hermione had left around two, and Draco had just been laying there, waiting for the enchantments to fall on his dorm, when Blaise came in sniggering and patting his head.

" _Good. You had a shag. Maybe now you'll play Quidditch too?"_

Fuck his life.

Draco realized he had really bad decision-making capabilities. Kissing Hermione Granger was the cherry on top of an oh-so fucked up sundae of choices. Sure, it had felt nice. Snogging normally felt nice, and kissing her had been _very nice_. She was tense until he soothed her arms, stroked her back, and played with a bit of that hair. She seemed to melt around him, all warmth and softness and this scent of cinnamon and lavender.

She was spice and sweet, and if he concentrated just a little, he could still taste her.

Which was exactly why he had to continue to ignore her, because what the fuck was he thinking?

He could not just go around kissing famous Muggle-borns and expect there not to be some consequences. _The Prophet_ would accuse him of using the Imperius curse again. The Weasel King would probably challenge him to a duel or something idiotic, and then he'd be shipped to Azkaban for hurting him. Not to mention he'd get disinherited. He would get ridiculed and harassed and probably blasted off that stupid tapestry his mum always went off about.

 _Bloody Hermione Granger._

That thought made him heat up and sigh in exasperation at the same time. She was a swot. A complete and utter lunatic. She was not even that pretty.

 _You're spending too much time with her._

He was just confused. It had to be that. This past year—the past few years—had drained his body, scrambled his brains, and barely left him functional. Apparently, it did not leave him functional _at all_ if he had wanted to kiss Hermione Granger.

Because he had wanted to kiss her. And even now, staring at the back of her mess of a head in Charms, he thought about her on his lips. He thought about her breasts against him, her delicate hands tracing the curves of his neck, and how she inhaled when he swiped his tongue over her mouth. How she fidgeted in inexperience but opened her mouth even wider and his whole body twitched. _This is not healthy. This is not sane._

"Draco."

He stuttered at Pansy's voice. "Huh?"

"I've finally decided that we're allowed to be friends again." The dark-haired witch scribbled on her parchment. "Don't fuck it up."

"Is this code for _please do my Charms essay_?"

"No. It's code for _don't fuck it up_." Her eyes caught him. "How's Muggle Studies going? Studying a lot of Muggles?"

"No."

"Only one then."

"Pansy, if you have something to say, bloody say it."

Flitwick dismissed the class, and Pansy rolled her eyes before tugging on Draco's sleeve and leading him quickly away from the classroom. Her voice was like acid. "As much as you may think I plan to whine after you, I don't, so do not misunderstand what I'm about to say to you."

She was short in front of him, breathing upwards so that the smell of apples and coffee hit his nose. He frowned and leaned back on the wall she cornered him on. "Which is?"

"Don't drag her along. Don't…don't _be you_ and muck it all up because you're too proud or afraid or whatever you're being right now."

"I don't know what…"

"You _do_ , Draco Malfoy. Fuck, I've known you forever. You do. And I do. Like you need to _study_ for Muggle Studies. Like you haven't had some weird obsession with her and Potter and Weasley for _years_. Daphne always joked that you had a thing for Potter, but maybe it was really…"

"No." Draco pushed her lightly on the shoulder. Pansy swayed but didn't budge. "Pansy, let me go."

"You stayed in the common room all weekend looking like shit. Hermione looked like she was going to have a nervous breakdown on Saturday." Pansy huffed. "I had to plan the entire set list myself. She was completely useless."

"I did not look…" He blinked. "She what?"

"She was out of her mind. She barely said anything and when she did it was all just nonsense about how she didn't know anything about tradition and if I would help her, but she would completely understand if I wouldn't. And then I told her I planned on getting you for _the Pairing_ and she looked like she was going to burst."

"Pansy…"

"I don't plan to get you. I'd rather have Weasley's twenty offspring." Her mascara-coated lashes flashed. "What did you do?"

"Nothing!"

"Draco, what did you do?"

"Merlin, _nothing_. I didn't say anything or do anything mean or rude." His eyes trained on the students still shuffling out of Flitwick's classroom. He looked for too big robes and hair but saw nothing but throngs of students. He then noticed Blaise, who stopped as soon as he exited to give Draco and Pansy a disapproving look, but there was still no Hermione. The snot seemed to be avoiding him as well.

"Hm. Well that explains it then."

.

.

"Draco."

It was amazing that the word came out at all. She swore she wouldn't be able to say anything. Her throat felt tight, constricted, and even now, she could feel the sweat start to bead at her hairline. Hermione clenched her fists until her knuckles went white as she stood behind him in the Great Hall. Draco Malfoy sat on the hard bench next to Blaise and some seventh year Slytherin she didn't really recognize. His hands stopped the motion towards his mouth at her voice, the tomato falling off the fork and hitting the metal plate with a curt _plop_.

His shoulders rose before he placed the fork back on the table. The Slytherins became still and quiet, eyes daggers and faces flat with confusion. The other three tables were whispering, and she swore she could hear Ginny calling her name from the other side of the room.

 _He's not going to turn, is he?_ Hermione had wanted to hit herself. She had been so stupid this weekend, so _cowardly._ She had refused to leave the Gryffindor Common Room except to see Pansy and talk about the upcoming Halloween party they were planning. She had Ginny steal her a few scones throughout the day on Saturday and Sunday—saying how she was so engrossed with a particularly complex runes translation that any extended interruption would completely shatter her concentration. Which was partially true. She _did_ have a complex runes translation to get through, but her concentration was already shattered. By him and his stupid lips and his refusal to approach her or talk to her or say anything at all.

She nearly bungled answers in class today because of this stupid, horrible boy, and she would not allow that to continue tomorrow.

So here she was, standing behind him, arms crossed, chin high, stomach twisting and turning and heaving at every second he didn't face her. "Draco!"

"What…" His voice was low, ice-like. Draco twisted on the bench and threw his legs over. He didn't stand. "…could you possibly want from me, Granger?"

"I need to talk to you." Her eyes caught Blaise to his right. A slop of mashed potatoes had fallen ungracefully from the boy's spoon. "I heard you failed your last Muggle Studies quiz. People know I'm tutoring you, Malfoy, and it's entirely too embarrassing that you could still be that idiotic after our lessons. You're acting like those…those lessons never happened! Like they didn't even matter! Like you could just forget them all! Like…"

"Hermione, stop." He stood slowly, stopping her rather loud (and false) rant. Draco brushed down the sleeves of his robes, and saying nothing else, walked out of the Great Hall. The whispers of the other students completely stopped at that, and even McGonagall seemed to be a little too interested at the commotion she just made.

She hurried from the Great Hall to catch up with him, but her speed was unnecessary. Draco was waiting outside the doors, eyebrow quirked at her red face. "You do know how to make a scene."

He was not allowed to look at her like that—like a wild cat ready to pounce, like he wasn't nervous at all when her mind was spinning and winding in uneven loops. "I want to talk to you."

"About Muggle Studies." His smirk widened. "I can ensure you my marks are actually quite outstanding."

"Shut up, not about that."

He took a step closer to her, and his hand swept through his white blond hair. Draco's eyes narrowed. "Do you really have to be so loud and obnoxious all the time? Wouldn't hurt for you to…"

"Why did you do it?" There. There it was. It made its way out somehow, and now Hermione just had to remember to breathe.

"If we're splicing hairs, technically _you_ started it."

"But then you did it again." Her face was warm at the memory and how if she just leaned a bit, she could reenact it. He was a twit but she still watched his eyes with anticipation, noticed that his fists were clenched and white too.

He breathed in deeply and she watched his chest rise and fall with the heavy release of weight. The smirk had been a part of his mask, and Draco began to let the wall slip away as he took another step closer. "You're asking me why I did it?"

"Yes."

"Because I shouldn't like you?" His eyes darted around. The halls were empty. The whole school was eating dinner. "I _know_ that."

"You think I'm filthy—that I have dirty blood. You think I'm lesser than you."

"And you think I'm a worthless, racist Death Eater." Malfoy's hands relaxed. He reached and touched a bit of her hair, winding it around one pale finger and smiling as the thing frizzed from his touch. "Would you have kissed me if you really thought that?"

Her heart hammered. She could smell pumpkin juice off his breath, see the storm-grey soften in his eyes as she whispered, "No."

He felt timid at first, whatever cockiness she first thought he held gone as soon as his lips touched hers. They pressed gently in the center of her lips, cool and chapped and hesitant. It was feather-like—a ghost of what she remembered—but she felt her upper body collapse inward. Draco leaned back and his eyes searched hers. She could only nod. "Okay."

"Okay." He nodded back and cupped her cheek, dragging her closer, the gentle hesitance replaced with the light suck and smack and wetness of his lips. Her toes curled. His colds hands moved down her neck, seeming to warm on her shoulders before curving down to her waist. He dragged her closer, and she grabbed his forearms, giggling. His concentration broke. "Shut up."

"I'm not saying anything." Hermione giggled again as his fingers swept back up and brushed her ribs. "Stop!"

He flashed a sly, snake-like grin and kissed her again, harder, his tongue gliding across the crease of her mouth before he shifted and arched his head to the bend of her neck. He licked and nipped and sucked, and Hermione could only brace herself on his back and stroke his hair in encouragement. He was firm and warm. He was rubbing against her, kneading her sides, and the dryness of her throat cracked.

"Can...can I…"

"Hm?" He murmured on her skin, the vibrations causing Hermione to grip on the blond strands of his hair tightly. Draco gave the spot a quick peck and looked up at her, waiting.

"Can I see you tonight? Maybe I…maybe you can teach me some Occlumency?"

She could feel the smile as he kissed her deeply. "Only if you promise just _some_ Occlumency." His fingers swiped her ribs again, and her muscles convulsed in another bout of laughter.

Hermione hit him with both hands. "Stop! Stop! You're such a _bloody git_!"


	16. 12 Grimmauld Place

A/N:

A bit late but here it is!

Thanks to all my readers!

* * *

 **Chapter 16: 12 Grimmauld Place**

 **December 25, 2017**

"I invited Draco Malfoy."

He was looking at her though Ron was the one who reacted. "You _what_? _Why?"_

Harry scratched his hair, fussing it up even more than normal. "Well, really I invited Scorpius. Thought it'd be rude not to invite his parents."

"Rude? _Rude?_ Mate, we're going to be spending Christmas dinner with _Malfoy_ and you're worried about being rude?"

"Your mum already knitted him a jumper."

"She _what?"_

Hermione took another sip of her hot chocolate as her husband stomped away and towards the kitchen. Hugo was sitting in the corner showing Lily his new LEGO set. Albus and Rose were sitting awkwardly on the couch in the drawing room of number 12 Grimmauld Place until James hit his brother and handed Rose a green and silver scarf to wear in the drafty room. Her daughter had looked at the thing, unsure at first, but then grabbed the scarf and wrapped it tightly around her neck. Albus gave her a hug that she was sure would leave bruises.

"If I didn't know any better, Hermione, it's almost like Ron knows that you and Malfoy…"

"He doesn't," she answered curtly. "After all this time, you'd think I'd be able to tell him, but…" She gestured to where her husband whined off. "When is George coming over?"

"Are you both okay?"

"Draco and I are…"

"No." Harry shook his head. He took a sip of eggnog and then rolled his eyes as the milky liquid slid down the gold "H" of his jumper. "Bugger."

"You're helpless, you know?" Hermione grabbed a paper napkin from the coffee table and dabbed at the wool. "Good thing Molly's in the kitchen helping your wife. Otherwise…"

"You and Ron are okay?"

Her hands stopped. She thought he wouldn't bring that up again with this distraction, hoped he wouldn't. Hermione grabbed her friend's wrist and walked him over to the formal dining room. It was still slightly odd seeing Harry and Ginny raise their children in such a notorious home. It had been fixed up _immensely._ The furniture was new and oversized. The curtains were light, and the old carpet was torn up and replaced with a chestnut-colored hardwood. The dining room was still all elegance—a large crystal chandelier sparkling, a long, wide wooden dining table the color of ebony. The table itself had large coils of garland and bright gold and red balls scattered throughout. There were a few (very few) green and silver balls caught in the mix of decorations.

"I don't want you to be in the middle of things."

"I'm already in the middle of things."

She exhaled and dropped his own hands. Her thoughts were scattered. She had to be careful about this, considerate. Harry was Ron's best friend too, and the last thing she wanted was for her friend to feel caught between the two. _Is it that bad? Is there something to be caught between?_ An aching part of her said, yes.

"He leaves. He just…leaves in the middle of the night and never tells me where he's going. He's lying to me, Harry." Her chest became heavy, her eyes blurry. "He's lying, and I try to reach his phone at the Ministry and no one ever…"

Harry stiffened, the color draining from his face. It only made her eyes even blurrier. "He doesn't work there."

 _What?_ "What?"

"Hermione, he doesn't work at the Ministry anymore."

The doorbell shook her from the spiral she would have fallen into. Ginny shouted from the kitchen for Harry to get the door (Kreacher was too busy helping her), and the wizard pushed up his glasses before walking Hermione out of the room. She followed Harry to the door, limbs seeming to operate even though she wasn't telling them to. _Ron doesn't work at the Ministry? Where does he go? Why doesn't he bloody tell me where he…_

"Oi! Harry!" The tall red head crashed into the room and gave Harry a quick, rattled handshake. "Guess who I found lurking outside old grim place? Hello, Hermione. Fred, Roxanne, say hello to Aunt Hermione."

"Hello, Aunt Hermione." Roxanne gave her a tight hug, while her big brother simply shrugged and went off to find James.

Angelina came in next, holding a bottle of wine and two broomsticks under her arms. "I hope Ron's been practicing. I need a better Keeper to score against. Especially if Ginny goes back to being Chaser."

"You can ask him yourself." Perhaps her voice sounded a little too bitter. "He should be in the kitchen."

"Excellent!" Angelina dropped the brooms by the door and headed to the kitchen. Roxanne followed her and revealed the two blonds still in the doorframe.

Scorpius Malfoy's hair was slicked back. He was heavily cloaked, a light dusting of snow on his shoulders and leather gloves covering his hands. "Hello, Mrs. Potter, Mr. Potter." He gave a slight bow and held out a package. "Chocolate frogs. My dad says you love them."

"Love wasn't the word I used. Scorpius, that's Ms. Granger, not Mrs. Potter." Draco held out a hand to Harry, and Hermione almost fainted when her best friend actually grabbed and shook it. "Thank you for the invitation. Astoria has a bit of a cold, so please do excuse her absence."

"Ah, Ginny will be sad to hear that. She kind of hit it off with your wife back before school started. Scorpius, is it? You look just like your dad did at that age."

"You'll like me anyway though, right?"

Hermione snorted at the little boy's sentence. "You seem a bit nicer than your father was." Malfoy glowered at her, and Hermione felt her stomach turn over.

Scorpius shyly moved his feet. "Oh, of course. You're Rose's mum."

"She's in there with Albus. She loves chocolate frogs too if you'd like to offer her one."

The young Slytherin blushed and scurried away from the adults. There was a _pop_ of Apparition, and Kreacher appeared from the flash to hold out his hands to Draco. "Mr. Draco Malfoy, what a pleasure. Can I take your coat, sir?"

Malfoy dropped the black wool in the House Elf's hands. "A free elf still working for Harry Potter?"

"Kreacher owes Master Harry quite a bit, sir. Though Kreacher is sure that if the noble Malfoy family were to offer Kreacher…"

"No, no. That's quite okay. I like that you're here watching over what's left of the Blacks. It's a very important duty, Kreacher. You're a good elf."

The gloomy, wrinkled thing actually smiled at that before snapping away with Draco's coat. Hermione noticed the broom in Draco's hands, and her shoulders sunk. "Not you too."

"How could I not after Potter said he'd thrash me? Potter, your glasses look even thicker. Sure you can even see the snitch still?"

"You'll be on Ginny's team then. She's your Chaser. Ron's the Keeper and Teddy's a decent Beater believe it or not."

"We're playing four on four?"

"Unless Hermione wants to step in."

She didn't dignify that with a response.

Draco gave her a half-laugh and crossed his arms. He was in grey trousers and a moss-green sweater—the most festive she had ever seen him. His face was dark, exhausted, and she wanted to ask about Astoria. Draco, surprisingly, was still talking to Harry. "Teddy? My cousin?"

"Once removed," Hermione corrected. "Is Andromeda coming too?"

"Yes."

"Oh." Draco touched his ring, voice quiet. "Small get together, was it? Anyone else?"

"Fleur and Bill and their daughter."

Malfoy looked red, almost sweaty. It was strange for him, and Hermione only wanted to talk to him alone. _Why isn't Harry running off?_

They seemed to be actually getting on. They seemed to be getting on _quite well_. _I must be dreaming._ Hermione watched the both of them, wide-eyed, as they discussed Quidditch and their sons and dealing with mothers (or mother-in-laws in Harry's case).

"Want a tour of the house? I'm sure Walburga will be happy to see you."

"I haven't been here since I was four." Draco looked around at the entrance-way. It was light, pictures of red heads lining the walls. "I think it was a bit different then."

The three adults walked to the drawing room where most of the children were. Lily and Hugo were still constructing the little plastic blocks. Scorpius was looking at Rose, dumbfounded by the green and silver scarf she was wearing.

"Rumor has it," Hermione found herself saying, "that your son has a bit of a crush."

"You're joking!" Harry said a bit too loudly, even though it was quite obvious to Hermione now that she saw the two together. Scorpius was flushed, his pale complexion heated and red. He looked uncomfortable yet elated to be seated next to Rose.

Draco's eyes widened, and the man gave a quick shrug. "Potter, I'll take you up on that tour."

"Oh. Great." Harry scratched his head. "Well, um, we can start upstairs. Ginny would kill me if…"

"If what?" The redhead swung the door to the kitchen open, dragging her youngest brother by the sleeve into the living room. Her face was heated and her red hair was in complete disarray, bits and pieces sticking to her forehead. "If you don't help me carve this stupid goose? Seriously, I try to cook the Muggle way and…" Ginny blinked. "Oh, Malfoy. Where's your wife?"

"At home. She's a little under the weather," Draco said simply. His fingers were playing with the edge of his jumper, tugging at a tiny thread of yarn. Hermione watched him with unease, watched him squirm and pale, and then she turned to look at her husband who had a similar expression plastered on his face. "So you're my Chaser?"

Ginny punched him in the shoulder. "Yes! Yes! We can have a fun name—some combination of Slytherin and Gryffindor. Oh, bollocks. Teddy's on our team too, and we can't go adding Hufflepuff in there too. How about N.E.W.T.s? As in people who actually have them? Hermione, you'll have to cheer for us."

Draco's pointed nose twitched. "Something smells like ash."

It did. It smelled and looked like smoke, and Ginny released a big sigh before retreating back to the kitchen and to the shouts of her own mother. Harry looked more than dismayed. "I should help before she actually asks me to."

The blond wizard next to him actually snickered. "The whip is cracking, Potter."

"Hermione, would you mind showing him around?" Harry gave Draco a firm pat. "It's the eidetic memory. She'll be a better guide than I would be anyway."

Her voice stuttered into saying nothing at all as Harry left her for the kitchen as well. She tapped her heel on the wooden floor. The room was warm, but she felt hollow, chilly. Cold sweat was forming on her palms, and she looked at Ron, expecting him to say something to Draco or about what Harry had said, but he didn't. "George is outside setting up the hoops." He gestured with his shoulder before going to the front door.

The air felt heavy, and she tried to focus on the small chatter of her children behind her, of the white lights on the too tall Christmas tree in the corner of the room. It smelled like pine and ash. The hairs on her arm rose when Draco touched her shoulder. "Should we start upstairs?"

Her body shook, and she found herself nodding and turning from the living room. She caught her husband closing the front door, but ignored it vehemently. "Have you read _The Rites and Passages of Young Witches and Wizards_?"

"By Geraldine Gryffindor?" His fingers traced the wooden bannister slowly as he walked towards the edge of the staircase. His sarcasm dripped, "I've heard of it."

"Entranceways are supposed to have a grand effect. I've read that the Black family originally had the wood made out of mahogany as that was the common wood of their wands, but to be honest, it's really a standard, luxurious wood. I wholly doubt it had anything to do with wand material." Spewing facts calmed her done, steadied her mind. Her chest felt a little lighter, and she watched Malfoy tap the wood, rub his fingers gently across the finish.

"My father loves elm trees. We have ten in the yard. I remember this staircase." His hands touched the newly placed wallpaper, white and cream stripes and wholly different than what Hermione remembered from her own childhood. Draco's mouth curved to a soft smile. "My mum used to bring me here to visit my great aunt. I must have been…four." His boots crept up the stairs, and Hermione followed behind him.

Her own memories were certainly different, completely different, than his. She watched Draco enter rooms with that same gentle expression, eyes wide at how clean the bedrooms were and all the red and gold and smiling pictures of Weasley families. Hermione drifted from the blond and leaned next to the door of what was her bedroom back when the Order had been in full swing. She had been so frightened back then, so out of control. She remembered Bill and Fleur's wedding and being so scared that all they could do was run and hide. All they did was run and run and get caught and just run again until…

"Hermione?"

She flinched at his voice and exhaled. "Sorry. I'm not the best guide, am I?"

"No," he said seriously and crossed his arms. "You really aren't. I'm expecting lengthy explanations about the Blacks' excessive need to paint portraits of themselves and little known facts."

"Little known fact: 12 Grimmauld Place was actually Headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix during the Second Wizarding War."

Draco snorted. " _Little_ known fact. I knew that when I was sixteen."

"Okay." Hermione twisted the knob of the door behind her and dragged out her wand. The sprawling room was simple now—a bed, a dresser, a mirror. "Little known fact: Harry Potter and his two best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, lived here for months on end in order to avoid Voldemort. Harry Potter and Ron Weasley would sleep on the floor. Hermione would lay on an old chaise." She took a step deeper in the room. "It's gone now. That's good. It was all springs anyway."

Draco followed her inside, the gentle expression on his face gone. He was staring at her, an unyielding, uncomfortable stare. "What if I caught you?"

"You did. You let us…"

"I did not let you go, Hermione. Seriously, what if I were a Snatcher? What if I…"

"You weren't." She almost felt like laughing. "Draco, what are you doing? Why are you rehashing this?"

"Because it's why we didn't work, isn't it?"

Her heart dropped. She felt her stomach churn and rise until she almost vomited, and Hermione stumbled back until she sat on the guest bed of the room. Her fingers grabbed at her hair. She was completely dizzy. "What are you getting at?"

"I'm just curious." He shrugged and walked closer, sounding calm and controlled and everything Hermione wasn't. "I used to think about it a lot, you know. Not anymore—not at all now—but there was a time when I would dig through my brain and look at my own memories to figure it out, Hermione."

Did he realize what he was saying? Hermione felt all the heat rise to her forehead. She couldn't stop looking at him. She wanted to tug on the strands of his jumper, roll up his sleeves and trace her fingers over his mark. She tried to remember what it felt like to have his arms around her body, his breath tickling her neck. It used to be as clear as day, but now she didn't remember. She didn't remember what he felt like, and her hands twitched. "You're forgetting how it happened then." She stood up from the bed and dropped her hands to her hips. "I was not the one who decided we were done."

His eyebrows rose. "Are you sure about that?"

"Positive! You…you're the one who did it! You were the one who said that…"

"No, I wasn't."

"Draco, stop lying. You _were_. I wouldn't have. I…" She groaned, frustrated and angry at the wizard in front of her. Why was he making her think about that day? Why drag up memories of things decades ago, things that still made her blood boil and heart ache?

 _Why does it hurt like that?_ _Why still_? No, no, no. She would _not_ do that.

"Should we take a look, Hermione?" He walked towards her, unafraid that she practically glared daggers at his head. Draco raised his hands and delicately placed his fingers on her temples. The sudden contact shook her. Hermione stiffened, her teeth biting her lower lip.

And as much as her mind screamed for her to move away, she didn't. She was curious. She had also gone over that day over and over and over again, and his declaration that they were done because of _her_ was completely irreconcilable with her own memories.

"Hermione? Malfoy?"

The door to the bedroom creaked open, and Hermione practically fell over herself to move away from the blond and take a look at the door. Ginny was standing there, dressed in her old Holyhead Harpies uniform and a pair of goggles in her hand. Draco awkwardly stepped away from her and walked towards the red head. "Those for me?"

"Yes. Can't have bugs going in your eyes. You need the snitch." Ginny tossed the goggles to him. "Hermione, my brother's looking for you."

"Which one?" Draco joked.

"Her husband." To say her tone was icy, would have been a gross disservice. It was arctic, chilling, and Draco more or less got the message right away and showed himself out of the room. Ginny pushed the door closed again. "Harry and I don't keep many secrets from each other."

 _Ron and I do._ She wanted to say that, but then she remembered that Ginny was her friend second and Ron's sister first. And then the true meaning behind her words became clear. "I dated Draco Malfoy when I was eighteen."

"Ugh, _so weird_. I knew you were acting bizarre our last year, Hermione, and I remember the rumors but…"

"I care about him, Ginny. I love Ron, but I care about Draco. Does that make sense?"

"Weirdly, yes. I'm sure if you told me while we were still at Hogwarts, I would have claimed he cursed you, but it makes sense. I still care about Dean."

Comparing her relationship with Draco to Ginny's with Dean seemed wrong, faulty, but she wasn't sure what a better comparison would be. Hermione found herself nodding.

"I'm assuming Ron doesn't know about this."

"I said I cared about him, not that I want him dead."

Ginny laughed and dragged Hermione outside. She was forced to wear a newly enchanted scarf of yellow, green, and red stripes. Hugo handed her a handmade flag that read _Go N.E.W.T.s,_ and the witch found herself muttering. She'd think by now she'd appreciate Quidditch.


	17. Date

A/N:

Happy new year :) I've been sick for two weeks, which has been horrible for my work but great for my writing! I have a bunch of chapters stockpiled, so I hope to update more consistently (new year's resolution, maybe!).

Also, I recently read this article about the sudden confusion of Harry Potter fans and the weird line that is craving more canonicity but also how much that sucks because it messes with your head canon. Makes me enjoy messing with canon even more...

* * *

 **Chapter 17: Date**

 **October 17, 1998**

"I want to come with you."

"You _do_? Seriously? You want to come with me?"

"Yes." He didn't know how he could make this clearer.

"It's not just a trip to Hogsmeade. I have to go to the Three Broomsticks."

"You mentioned that last night." He smirked seeing her blush at his last two words. "I have something I need to do there."

The concerned, skeptical look on her face made Draco want to push her off her seat. He had managed to catch Hermione in the Great Hall, seated at the Hufflepuff table with Pansy Parkinson. What the two were laughing about was beyond him, but Pansy had excused herself in a hurry when he walked over. That was fine. The last thing he wanted was Pansy coming along too.

"But…"

"Granger, I'm not going to curse anyone again. Bloody hell…I'm _not._ Here." The words wouldn't come out so Draco fumbled through his blazer's pocket and handed Hermione the wrinkled piece of parchment.

"This is a letter."

"Brilliant! Has anyone ever told you that you're positively…"

She smacked him on the arm. "A letter for Rosmerta?"

"I wasn't very nice to her."

"Malfoy, she's not going to forgive you because of a letter."

"I don't think anything would make her forgive me." It might have been a dumb idea, but he had written one to Katie Bell months ago. And though he hadn't actually received any reassurance that she even received it, he felt better for it. _He_ had to acknowledge it, accept the fact that he had done some terrible shit to people. Rosmerta could burn the thing in front of him for all he cared. "I don't care if you think it's dumb, Hermione, but…"

"I never said that." She touched the collar of his white button down and tugged it smooth against his collarbone. Hermione bit her lip and inched up to place a quick kiss on his lips. "I don't think that."

He looked around the vacant hall. At this point in the year, most students were locked up in the library or trying to get the most out of what was left of relatively nice Scottish weather. Satisfied that no one was there besides a few house elves and maybe the Fat Friar, he sat down next to her and grabbed her waist. His breathing rushed as she giggled and shifted. "What are you thinking then?"

"It's actually nice of you. Useless but nice."

"So you'll let me come?"

"I still don't…"

"McGonagall won't let me go without a chaperone." He didn't like admitting that. He _hated_ it. His grip on her waist loosened. "I'm sure you're an acceptable choice."

Hermione's face tilted down at his statement, but Draco didn't bother questioning it. The witch slowly moved her hands to his and removed them from her waist. "And here I thought this would almost be a date."

 _Date?_ That was what he used to do, wasn't it? Draco used to bring Pansy to Hogsmeade. They used to go to that stupid candy store and hold hands and talk about where they were going on holiday. He couldn't imagine doing that with Hermione or really anyone anymore. That was…insipid to say the least. That was his only breath of brief sanity sixth year—an idiotic distraction that would numb some of the crazy. And after seventh year, the thought of all that seemed like a monumental waste of time.

"A date?"

"With me?"

"Oh."

Her head cocked to the side. "Maybe we…uh, well, I don't know. Maybe we should have talked about it, but you must know that I don't…" Hermione shook her head. "I don't like just kissing. I mean, I like kissing you, Draco, but I just don't like…"

"I'm not your boyfriend."

"God, _I know that_."

He dragged her back to his body. She was reluctant, red, and sweaty. Hermione seemed incredibly twitchy and he liked it. "Do you want to go on a date with me?"

Hermione forced back a smile. She inched away from him. The witch crossed her arms and paused for a long time. Her shoes tapped on the stone floor beneath the bench. It made him count the seconds that passed. It made him nervous. "When?"

"Today. I was thinking Hogsmeade."

"Oh. I was thinking about going there, but I'm not so sure. A date? With you?"

He took a step closer. "Then say no."

She scoffed. "You're so manipulative."

"Slytherin." Another step. He leaned forward and kissed her. "I'll ask McGonagall."

"We'll _both_ ask McGonagall." Her eyes were large, bright, and he almost wanted to take back the question and run. What was she doing with him? Why would she want to date him? Other thoughts skidded through his brain, like how he thought she was dating Weasley. Or that this would make things harder. Just kissing would be easy. Just physical would be much more uncomplicated than dating her. "I think we can Apparate out after. McGonagall can lift the enchantment for me." She held out her hand, and he felt the rocks slide down his throat. He felt nervous, unsure, but he grabbed it to settle his nerves, kissed her to cement it.

"Let's go then."

.

.

It wasn't snowing yet in Hogsmeade, which was strange for him. They seemed to always go in the dead of winter, when the sun set too early, and he was knee-deep in assignments. Draco's stomach still rolled a little from the Side-Along, and even more so because of where they were headed. They both agreed it was a smart idea to go to the Three Broomsticks first. Hermione wanted to settle her business with Rosmerta and Draco thought the same. She was wearing her red and gold Gryffindor scarf and fingerless gloves. The wind was whipping, and the ground was crusted with frost. "You're not cold?" She turned to him and made him clap his hands together before moving her own against them. "No gloves?"

He actually felt a bit too warm. "I'm okay."

"You feel _freezing_." She didn't. Hermione felt warm and energized and too, too excited. "You have your letter?"

He patted his coat pocket.

"Perfect. We'll head there first and get the nasty bit over with. Where do you want to go after?"

"Sorry?" This was a date. He hadn't really expected to be asked for his opinion.

But Hermione persisted. "Anywhere you want to go? I was thinking we could get a drink after we talk with Rosmerta and then I always like Scrivenshaft's. I know that's not terribly interesting, but they are supposed to have this newest selection of quills that write smoother." She still rubbed his hands. "Sorry. You probably want to go to Zonko's or Honeyduke's…"

"No, not particularly." He almost bit his tongue. Should he say that? Shouldn't he offer to go there and buy her cauldron cakes? Pansy had always wanted that. "But we could go to Gladrags. You can pick something out there instead of Honeyduke's."

"Pick something out?" Hermione dropped his hands. "What do you mean?"

"Don't you want a present?"

"Why?" She laughed. "Because we're on a _date_? No. I don't want a present because you feel obligated to get me one."

Hermione was a strange witch. She didn't want a present. She didn't grab his hand and drag him along or giggle when he complimented her perfume. In fact, she wasn't even _wearing_ perfume, and the noise that came out of her mouth seemed more awkward than the higher pitched, coy laughter that Pansy used to do. She seemed shyer yet brighter, if that made sense. He followed her down High Street until the swinging sign of the Three Broomsticks came into view. Draco slowed his pace and grabbed the letter in his pocket. It was getting moist from his sweat.

"Draco?"

"Huh?"

Hermione looked at him wide-eyed again. Her concern was surprising. "I can bring in the letter for you."

 _No_. He sneered. "I'm not a coward."

"Draco…"

"No, Hermione. I'm not a bloody coward anymore. I gave one to Katie Bell. I'd give one to Weasley too if he'd actual show the fuck up here." He tried not to pay attention to the way she squirmed when he mentioned Ron's name. "I'm going in and giving her this stupid letter." He brushed passed her, using his frustration with her question to mask the fear.

The Three Broomsticks looked warm and every bit the same as it did before the war. The smell of butterbeer and cooked sausages was pungent, but all of that was superbly less vivid than the sudden silence. The patrons placed down their beers or let them seep through their beards as Draco walked in. His shoes made too much noise against the wood floor, but he persisted as he heard the heavy door behind him creak open more and then close. Hermione shuffled against his back, a hand on his shoulder. He wanted to shrug her off, break the association, but the witch was persistent. Her grip on him was hard, and he was certain the bloody girl would have grabbed his hand if he currently didn't hold the letter with both of his.

Rosmerta was behind the counter, looking paler, less beautiful than what he remembered. _I did this._ He repeated it to himself. Her face was gaunt, the circles under her eyes hard and grey. _I did this to her._ She dropped the wet rag on the counter as Draco approached. Her eyes were as wide as saucers, and her whole body was shaking.

"Madame Rosmerta…" His throat was raw, barely audible, and it took Draco a second to realize that even though he had tried to say those words, it was actually Hermione that voiced them. "Madame Rosmerta, could we speak with you for a second?"

"You, dear girl, are welcome to speak with me, but he needs to leave." Even her voice shook. Rosmerta was staring at him. Her eyes welled and her face flushed red. She repeated slowly, painfully, "He needs to leave."

"Please, if he could only…"

"Draco Malfoy is not welcome here. He will _never_ be welcome here. He is a Death Eater. He should be rotting in Azkaban for what he did to me. He needs to get the hell out."

"No." Hermione walked in front of him and took his wrist. "He is not leaving. He has something to tell you, and you will hear him out."

"I will _not_. And it's shocking to me that you would defend him, Miss Granger. You know what he did. You know who he _is._ Get him out of here or see yourself out too."

The other pub patrons glowered at them. One burlier wizard even chose to stand from his seat. Draco had enough. Hermione looked ready to pounce again, but Draco just threw the letter at Rosmerta's face. "Come on." He tugged his wrist, but the young witch held back.

"No, I need to tell her…"

"Come _on_ , Hermione." Draco shook his head at her stubbornness. "Let's take our business elsewhere. Let's take _all_ of Hogwarts' business elsewhere."

It took two more tugs to move Hermione Granger from her spot in the Three Broomsticks, and as soon as they were out again in the streets, the witch took her arm back and started ripping. "How dare she! I know you've done bad things…"

"Terrible things really."

"But she wouldn't even _talk_ to you! She wouldn't even give you a chance to…"

"Hermione, I used the Imperius curse on her for the better part of a year."

"But she wouldn't…she wouldn't…"

"Stop." His voice was firm. Draco placed his hands on her shoulders. "She won't forgive me. Half this world won't forgive me. I was a Death Eater." _I'm bad. I'm toxic._ "Don't you understand that?"

"Yes. Yes! I know. I knew she wouldn't." Hermione groaned, frustrated. "But I understand there's more too. That's always been…I always liked that about myself, Draco."

"That you can see the good in people?"

She shook her head. "That I can see _all_ of people. It's so frustrating that others don't." There were people on the streets, but Hermione leaned in and kissed him. He was rigid at first, but relaxed when he realized she wouldn't let up, that she wanted to do this. And Merlin he did too. This stupid witch was ready to start a duel in a pub for him, and he didn't know why. But he liked that she wanted to, and he liked her _a lot_. Draco pulled her closer. Hermione squealed and laughed against his mouth. Her hands moved in his hair and he deepened the kiss, tongue sliding against hers, noses rubbing and inching around each other as she laughed.

"You're the strangest girl I've ever met."

"Have you met Luna?" Hermione, flushed and pressed against him, lightly brushed the fringe from his face. "Can I buy you a drink?"

"No." Though the look on her face said that wasn't an acceptable answer. "I suppose you want to go to Madame Puddifoot's?" Draco hated that place and all of the couples cooing over pudding.

"I was actually thinking of another pub if that's okay with you." She grinned. "But first quills."


	18. Truth

**Chapter 18: Truth**

 **January 7, 2018**

She waited up for him this time. Hermione had planned to wait in her slippers and bathrobe and look the part of the bothered, tired wife, but now that she was actually standing there, it didn't sit well with her at all. She put on jeans and a jumper and grabbed a book from her shelf. She had half the mind to grab the first year Astronomy text Draco gave her, but thought better. This wasn't about that.

Hugo was always a sound sleeper, but Hermione crept in his room to cast a _Muffliato_ anyway. She purposely waited for Rose to get back to school to have this conversation. She had wanted to ever since Christmas day when she found out he had quit his job at the Ministry but knew it would be better to wait. Though Harry would not elaborate more than that, she needed to find out the whole story. She deserved to know, and the fact that this had been seemingly going on for _months_ behind her back was downright infuriating.

 _I should have confronted him before. Why haven't I confronted him?_

Of course, she had known. She had known for those months. She had known something was going on with him and knew he wasn't cheating, but quitting his job and not telling her? What was he _doing_?

Her hands fidgeted on the large cookbook Harry had bought her as another joke. It was a Muggle cookbook, and she had actually broken it out on a few occasions when she got home from the Ministry too early. Hermione tried to lose herself in the simple instructions, but it was hopeless. She dropped the book on the coffee table and paced towards the kitchen. A glass of wine would have soothed her, but she didn't bother to pour one. Instead, she found herself moving back to the living room and one of their many bookshelves, this one more personal. This one had rows and rows of photo albums—their wedding, their children, their _lives_ together in moving pictures. Her hands skimmed the spine of a navy cover, until she heard the _pop_ of Apparition. Ron was back.

"Hermione?" He yawned and stretched in the middle of the living room. "What are you doing awake? Is everything okay?"

"I'm not sure." She crossed her arms but quickly dropped them to her side. She didn't want to attack him. "Where have you been?"

"Oh, well. Sorry about that." He scratched his red hair and unbuttoned his wool coat. There was snow dripping on his boots and hair. "I had to run over to the Burrow and help Mum…"

"I know you're not an Auror anymore, Ron." Her heart hammered, pounded, pushed against her chest. Hermione couldn't look at him directly. She faced him, head on, but refused to meet his gaze. "I know you've been lying to me."

"Hermione…"

"Why? Why are you lying? Why have you been lying over and over again?" She couldn't help it. Her hands found their way in front of her chest, crossed, defensive. Her voice rose and rose with each word, and all of her bubbling anger and frustration with him started to pour out. "And quitting your job? We're married! You can't just go around making decisions and not telling me about them!"

"And why not? They are _my_ decisions to make. _Mine_ Hermione." His voice was lower, barely a whisper, but incredibly rigid and harsh. He threw his coat onto the couch and rushed off to their bedroom. Hermione followed and closed the door behind them. Ron rolled his shoulders, his back facing her. "Hugo is asleep."

"I used _Muffliato._ "

"Prepared for a fight then?" He shook his head. "I don't want to fight with you."

For some reason, she was disappointed. "You don't?"

"No, you always win."

She held back a twitch. "Who says we're fighting? I just want to know the truth, Ron. I just want to know where you are going at night. Is there another dark wizard and Harry doesn't want to tell me?" Her throat closed. She felt like she had wool in her mouth, and she flexed her hands to try and keep herself focused, to keep herself from completely cracking. "Are you…are you seeing someone else?"

He twisted around. Ron's face contorted. "What? _No!_ How could you even think that?!"

"Well, what am I supposed to think? You're sneaking out and back in. You're leaving at odd hours. What should I think if you don't _tell_ me anything?"

"You'd try to stop me if I told you."

"Ron, what are you talking about!"

Her husband sighed and ran his fingers through his hair before crashing on his bed. "I gave up being an Auror to work with George. I'm helping him with the joke shop."

 _That's it?_ She couldn't believe it. That was the big secret? That was the thing he felt the need to hide from her? That he needed to sneak around for? Hermione felt like punching him. "What is wrong with you?"

Ron sat up. "I knew you'd hate me for it. I'm sorry it's not as prestigious or ambitious as your career, Hermione, but it's what I…"

"You're an _idiot_."

"Fine. Whatever. I'm an idiot." He unlaced his shoes, took his wand and placed it on the nightstand. He looked completely ragged, completely _accepting_ and uncommunicative.

Hermione didn't know what to do. She didn't want to talk to him or deal with him at all right now, hurt that he thought that about her but also realizing, horrifyingly, that he was right. She _was_ disappointed in him. For the decades that she knew this man, there were only a few times that he had cut and run. She still thought about how he abandoned her and Harry when they were hunting for Horcruxes. It still rattled her that he took the easy way out of his education and instead of being with her, opted to go with Harry and do something he never thought about doing before. And was he just doing that again? She coughed before asking, "Did the Ministry get too hard?"

It just fell out. Hermione hadn't meant for it to sound so callous, so patronizing, but it did. The room fell into silence, and her throat felt raw. Her husband looked at her, horrified, and she edged away from him. Ron groaned in frustration and moved from the bed. He picked up his wand and started slipping on his shoes.

Hermione took a step closer to him. "Where are you going?"

"The Burrow." He shot her a brutal, penetrating glare. "Do you believe me?"

"Ron…"

"I don't want to talk to you right now. Tell Hugo I'm working all day." And then in a single blur, he was completely gone.

.

.

 **October 17, 1998**

Malfoy looked uncomfortable when she knocked on the door of the Hog's Head. That discomfort grew to disgust as they made their way past hooded figures and sticky looking tables and benches. "Don't act like you're better than this place."

He raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. "I am _not,_ Granger. I'm just concerned I'll develop Spattergroit. Does that look like fungus to you?"

She hit him again, playfully although his face briefly looked heated and deadly. Then his eyes caught the man behind the counter and Draco stopped all movement. Hermione grabbed his upper arm. "It's Dumbledore's brother."

"Think I'll be any more welcome here?" His voice told her he did not have much faith. Her hand moved down to lace it in his own as she walked towards the bar.

She tapped lightly on the dark wood counter, and Aberforth turned from the taps, his face neutral if not pleasant. For a second, Hermione thought he didn't recognize her, but then the bearded man brought out two tin cups. "On the house, Hermione. Butterbeer I'm assuming?"

"Yes."

"For you and your…"

"This is Draco Malfoy."

His grip in hers felt wet and tight, and Hermione only edged closer to him. She knew Aberforth was staring at him, grilling him, so she decided to just speak even louder. "We'd like to get a drink together...undisturbed if possible.

The blond wizard next to her squirmed. "Hermione…"

"You're Lucius' boy." Aberforth filled the two cups to the brim, making sure to leave a decent amount of foamy head. The warm cups were handed off to them. "I heard you did a decent job making sure this girl didn't die in your house."

Hermione turned to look at the young wizard, who looked pained at the topic. His hands shifted with the weight of Scrivenshaft's bag (he had insisted on carrying her quills for her) and Draco firmly shook his head. "Have you seen her scar?"

"I've seen her breathe and that's all I need to see." Aberforth Dumbledore cocked his head to the right. "Go all the way to the back, furthest table and take this." He dropped a worn, stained cork coaster on the counter. "This will grant your desired…discretion."

"Great!" She grabbed the grubby looking coaster and pocketed it before leading Draco to the furthest back table of the Hog's Head. While the Three Broomsticks was certainly cleaner and larger, she didn't mind that their date had veered here. Draco seemed to not like the dinginess of the place, but he seemed more relaxed here away from Rosmerta. When she had found the farthest table, Hermione dropped the coaster flat on the top next to her butterbeer before sitting down. Draco took a solid look at the seat before deeming it clean enough and sat down across from her.

"This is…" He looked around. His grey eyes stopped at the hooded group of people to their far left. "Not what I was expecting."

"A bit too crowded for you?"

He shot her a grin before taking a sip of his butterbeer. "I never thought I'd be able to get a drink in Hogsmeade again."

"You're welcome."

"I wasn't going to thank you." He rolled his shoulder. "Did you buy _all_ the quills?"

"Only ten packages. They tend to break. What I wouldn't give for a good pen."

"A what?"

"Never mind." Her mind felt a bit foggy and Hermione took a long sip of the warm liquid. She realized this was their first date. After snogging each other for weeks and literally being in each other's heads, this was the first time they were formally supposed to sit down and get to know each other. Hermione licked the remnants of butterbeer from her upper lip. "I guess I should ask you about your favorite class or color or…" She smiled. "Do you know what's on your face?"

"My face?" He touched his cheekbones and forehead, completely missing the white puff of foam on the tip of his pointed nose.

"No. No! Here, let me." She got up from her chair and wiped the butterbeer foam from his nose. Draco, smirking, grabbed her wrist and brought the pointed finger to his mouth. Her knees wobbled. "Malfoy…"

"Too forward?" He smacked his lips and dropped her wrist. "I forget. First date, right? Well, um, favorite class is Potions though Slughorn is challenging that idea and black."

She sputtered. "Black?"

"Don't go on about if black is a color or not. No swotty behavior…"

"I wasn't!" Though she did retreat to her seat. "I was just expecting green or silver. Though I suppose black makes…"

"Let's not do this." Draco drank again and dropped the cup with a bit more fervor. He waved a hand at her dismissively. "I know everything about you. All the little things at least."

"You do now?"

"Yes." Draco didn't back down from her stare. "I've known you for _seven years_. Your favorite class is Arithmancy. Your favorite color is…well I don't really give a shit about your favorite color, Hermione. Can't we just skip all that stuff?"

"And do what?"

"Snog? Fine. _Fine!_ It was just one suggestion." He tapped the table anxiously. "How are you finding Occlumency?"

"Impossible." She sighed. That was not one of her favorite things to think about. They had only done a handful of Occlumency sessions, but she felt pretty hopeless at it. It reminded her of trying to ride a broom only incredibly more vulnerable.

"Yes, you're not very good."

"Excuse me?"

"You're not," Draco said nonchalantly, "You're hopeless."

Her face heated at that. If there was anything she hated, it was being mediocre—let alone _hopeless—_ at things. She didn't want to be reminded about how whenever she attempted to block Draco from her thoughts, he managed to drudge up some embarrassing memory (like Cormac at Slughorn's Christmas party or her failed attempts for S.P.E.W. though he hadn't laughed like she thought he would). He had even emphasized how _bad_ at Legilimency he was, only reinforcing that she must be incredibly awful if she managed to let him break through. She was desperate to change the subject. "What was life like knowing you were a wizard?"

Draco just stared at her.

"Well?"

"You're asking about my childhood?"

"Not exactly…"

"You are." He laughed. "You're asking about what it was like growing up to be a pure-blood, yes?"

She supposed she was. "You have to admit it was quite different from mine."

"I whole-heartedly admit that."

"I think it's that book Pansy's having me read." Her finger still felt warm from Draco's mouth. "It's brainwashing me. How many goats do you think you're worth?"

"Please, Hermione. Only witches are equivalent to livestock."

The witch brought her wand from her pocket, and Draco reached out and grabbed her hand. "Nervous?"

"About the dance?" She shrugged. "No. Of course not."

"You are. Don't worry. You're worth at least five goats."

"You're not funny."

His fingers brushed over her own, and she felt her face heat, her eyes watching them dance over her wool gloves. "Can I take these off?"

"I just hate the whole concept. It's completely sexist. Not to mention it brings attention to the different economic classes of the students. How will the Muggle-borns even be valued? My parents don't have vaults in Gringotts."

"You're reading it wrong." Malfoy pulled at the edge of her left fingerless glove and tugged it off.

She let him. "I'm not."

"You are." He took off the right glove. "The whole point of _the Pairing_ is that it pairs you with the most suitable match. Economics are only a bit of that. Do you really think galleons existed in the Bronze Age? They're made out of _gold_."

Hermione took a quick sip of her butterbeer. "Swot."

" _Excuse me?_ "

She held out her tongue. "Since you're so omniscient about all this, please tell me how I am misinterpreting."

"No. This is boring. You'll find out soon enough." He was stroking her skin, tracing the lines of her veins and knuckles. "Are we carving squash?"

She wanted to laugh but was still distracted by his touch. "Uh, what?"

"That's a thing Muggles do, right? Carve squash and let it rot on your porch?"

"Oh pumpkins! Yes. Do you want to do that?"

Draco shrugged and continued playing with her hand. He was such a weird boy. His hand went further up hers, massaging her wrists and lower arm. Hermione found herself swallowing and edging closer to him, wishing their chairs were next to each other. Draco didn't bother hiding his thoughts. "This coaster gives discretion?"

"Only our conversation. They'll see you kiss me."

"Ah, so we'll have to wait a while."

"Draco…"

"What was it like for you? Learning all this existed?" His grey eyes flashed up to her, though his hand was still on her skin. "Did it change your life?"

"Are your kidding? Yes. Absolutely." It was one of the happiest days of her life. She originally thought she was a freak. Accidents would happen constantly at school—her bullies finding themselves with their trousers down, her obnoxious teacher writing on the chalkboard only for nothing to show up. She _knew_ it had been her but had no explanation for it. That letter had meant everything. Her brain was a little buzzed. "I never felt like I belonged, you know."

His chair scooted closer around the table, but Draco didn't say anything.

Hermione continued, "I think that's probably the main difference between you and I."

"Explain."

"You _always_ felt like you owned Hogwarts. You did. Well, you walked around like you did, and I bet you felt that way your whole life. You knew your place and how you fit into it, but I never did. I was weird in the Muggle world. I could do magic but didn't know that was what it was. And then when I was accepted to magic school, I thought…that was that. That was where I belonged, but then well… _you_ reminded me that I didn't." She inhaled. She didn't mean to offend Draco, just explain herself. Malfoy didn't say anything, didn't so much as change his expression, so she continued, "I mean, now I understand myself perfectly but…"

"Don't assume that."

"I'm sorry?"

"That I don't understand. You're making an assumption."

She blinked at him and the hardness in his tone. "Do you know what that feels like?"

"To feel like you don't belong? To feel like you're pretending to be something you're not just to fit in to what everyone _expects_ you to be?" His smile was coy if not forced. "Now, when would I have ever experienced that?"

Hermione swallowed and turned over her hands, gripping his own. She slid over in her chair and planted a firm, long kiss on his lips. Draco closed his eyes and held her neck. He sucked her upper lip, but she soon broke the contact and placed a chaste kiss on his nose. "Thanks for carrying my quills."

He smiled and kissed her again.


	19. Roles

**Chapter 19: Roles**

 **January 17, 2018**

Harry Potter was outside his door and he had no idea why. Astoria was resting, Scorpius had left for school ages ago, so the once Boy Who Lived must have been there to see him, which was completely strange. There was the overwhelming urge to just leave the twat standing outside in the cold, but Potter caught sight of him through the paned windows and waved. _There goes that then._

Draco opened and leaned on his front door. "The Ministry is supposed to alert me before you raid my house."

"I'm not here to raid your house." Potter took a piece of parchment from his cloak and handed it to the blond wizard.

Draco read the letter quickly. "You want me to work for you."

"Something like that."

" _Why?_ "

"I know you worked with St. Mungo's five years ago to help develop an alkahest."

Had it already been five years? "It was hardly that. It was made to dissolve through foreign tissue, not metal or anything…"

"Malfoy, the Ministry has a commission for you. Do you want it or not?"

A commission? A _job_? Potter was right—he hadn't had anything similar to a job for five years. And he craved one. He wanted one. He hated to admit it, but he needed a distraction from Astoria. Her health was declining rapidly. Hermione had brought option after option, but nothing seemed to be working. But at the same time, he couldn't leave her alone. She couldn't cast magic and she didn't know how to function like a Muggle, nor was she strong enough to learn how. "I do, but I can't leave my wife."

Potter looked confused by that statement, and Draco realized Hermione had kept quiet about his personal life. He was incredibly grateful. Surprised, but grateful. "I'm sure Astoria can come and…"

"Do you want to come in? Have some coffee?" It was one o'clock in the afternoon, but the black-haired wizard nodded and followed Draco to the kitchen. Once inside, Harry didn't sit down. Draco cast a warming charm on the remnants in the press before pouring Potter a cup. "Granger didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

That really shocked him. "I just assumed she would."

"She's been pretty distracted. Do you have sugar? This is _strong_."

Draco cast a wordless _Accio sugar_ and dropped it harshly in front of his old rival. "My wife is not well."

Potter stuttered, his whole body sagging. He immediately paled, and his hands shook the metal tongs as he attempted to grab a sugar cube. It took him a while to finally say, "I'm uh…I'm sorry to hear that."

"She needs someone around her. I can't really leave for hours on end every day."

"Malfoy, I am truly sorry. I had no idea. It would have been, uh, beneficial to have you. There aren't many wizards who really know alchemy as well as…what about Kreacher?"

He blinked. _Moron._ "Doubtful that he knows alchemy. I would think you would know better than…"

"No. He can watch Astoria. He loves your family."

He felt completely cold. His bones were ice at the thought of just leaving her, even if it was to go out and actually work his mind, to contribute, to do everything he had wanted to do since he was eighteen. "I'll have to ask her. What's the commission, Potter?"

Whatever unease Potter felt vanish. He straightened the crooked black framed glasses on his nose and coolly asked, "Ever heard of the Mirror of Erised?"

.

.

 **October 31, 1998**

She was trying to push him out, but his eyes were open and he was trying a lot harder. They were sitting on the floor of the Slytherin Common Room, the enchantments up, the fire blazing. Her legs were sprawled out on top of his long ones, and Malfoy was holding her hands. "I want to know what you first thought about me."

"This is _cruel,_ Malfoy."

"Tell me to get out and I will, but I rather you get me out on your own."

She couldn't and he knew that. _Manipulative bastard._ But she was smiling. It was weird. She should have been pissed and angry, but she wasn't. She was so used to getting her way, so used to just bulldozing through people, but Draco didn't let her. She was pushy but he was too. He was stubborn and hard and abrasive, and she liked it. "I need to go setup early tomorrow."

"Today. It's past midnight."

" _Today._ Even more of a reason."

"Tell me to get out."

She didn't. Instead, Hermione handed over the memory.

 _She was eleven and too excited. Her mother told her that she could wear her jeans and t-shirt, but no—she was going to wizarding school and she would wear her robes the entire time until she grew out of them. She had left stacks of books in her car in order to help that awkward boy find his toad. The awkward boy had come from a wizarding family, and she was incredibly interested in learning more about it. She had followed him around the Hogwarts Express, hoping he'd give her a bit more insight on what it was like to be a wizard, but no such luck. The boy was clumsy and muttering far too much to himself._

"What did you expect from Longbottom?" Draco sniggered across from her.

"Considering what he's gone through and that he wasn't even using his own wand, I thought he did quite well."

That sly smile only grew. "At the end maybe."

"Definitely at the end."

 _So she decided to leave him and venture out on her own. She had sat entirely too long on the train and needed to get up and walk around. From what she could tell, they were heading north. Hogwarts, she read, was unplottable, but the train was neither flying or teleporting, so she thought it must be in Britain._

 _She had asked every single passenger if they had seen a toad, but no one was being overly helpful. Even the prefects seemed too absorbed in other matters to give much help. She continued to walk through car after car—most students already too preoccupied with the excitement of a new school year to care about some lost toad. She moved to the side to let the sweets cart pass by when she saw a blond boy on the other end, a purple box in his hand._

 _The boy blinked at her. "Hello."_

" _Hello. Have you seen a toad pass by?"_

" _No, I haven't." The blond pointy boy was about to turn to leave when he asked, "Have you seen anyone named Crabbe or Goyle? Nott's been annoying me."_

" _I'm not sure I know who any of those people are."_

 _The boy moved his head to the side, his eyes narrowing as if he suddenly realized something incredibly interesting about her. "Are you from London?"_

" _I am, actually. I was born in Hammersmith, but my parents recently moved to Chelsea."_

" _I love Chelsea. I've been there a few times with my mum."_

" _Oh? You must love their club."_

 _His face was pure confusion, and she soon realized that this boy was probably not a Muggle-born like herself. She tried to recover. "Or …uh, Quidditch? You must like Quidditch."_

" _I'm a Falmouth fan actually. I didn't realize Chelsea had its own team. Do you like Quidditch too?"_

 _She didn't really have an idea what Quidditch was, but if it were anything like football the answer was a resounding, "No."_

" _Most girls don't." He started walking. "I'm so jealous you're from London. Isn't it weird how the Muggles have those tall red things with slots everywhere? What's that even for?"_

"… _for post. They use it for post."_

" _Ridiculous! I'll look out for your toad. And I'll see you?"_

Hermione let go of his hands and backed away from him to break the connection. Draco blinked his eyes, blond lashes flashing, and straightened up. The witch shrugged her shoulders. "And that's it."

Draco pursed his lips. "You thought I was pointy."

"You _are_ pointy." She leaned forward and kissed his nose.

"Don't distract me. You thought I was pointy and a _Muggle-born_?"

"And an idiot for not knowing what a post box was. What were you expecting, Malfoy?" He was lucky her initial feelings for him had been neutral. Ten hours after she got off the train, she would think he was a sniveling little prat. His face was reactionless, which, she learned, meant he was thinking quite a lot. "Let me see what you thought of me."

"No."

"I'm a decent Legilimens."

"I'm a better Occlumens, and you wouldn't." He crawled forward and pulled her body so that her back was on his chest. His hands went to her hips. "I think we're done with Occlumency today."

"Did you think I was cute?"

"You had teeth like a beaver."

"You liked me, didn't you? Before you knew I was a Muggle-born…"

"And obnoxious and infuriating and acerbic."

She couldn't help but smile and lean more against him. Hermione turned to watch the flames, her stomach feeling jittery, her mind feeling that light, lovely hum of happiness. She exhaled deeply and listened to the rhythm of his chest and how it would grow and collapse under her. It calmed her. It made her forget that the boy behind her had been a Death Eater, that so many of her friends had died and were gone. It made her forget that things outside of this room were entirely too complicated, and that she was famous. That she would leave this place and still be haunted from the battle here. That everything would be different and not what she thought it would be.

 _This isn't what I thought it would be._ She focused on that, and how Malfoy was still a stubborn arse but also smart and witty and not as horrible as she once thought. "I like you a lot."

"I liked you at first before all…"

"The bigotry?"

His arms wrapped harder around her. "Yes. Don't get me wrong though. I hated you for the majority of our time here."

"Maybe you'll like me at the end."

His voice was warm against her neck. "Definitely at the end."

.

.

 **January 22, 2018**

Pansy was playing with her curry, looking as if the slop were going to bounce off the plate and eat her.

"Lunch was a good idea, Pansy." Hermione cupped the small glass of warm chai, attempting to settle her nerves. "I had something I wanted to talk about. I think you would be able to…"

"What is this again?"

"Lamb. Just try it."

"Why?"

Hermione took her own fork and ate a bit of her lamb. It was delicious. She didn't know why Pansy was making such a fuss about it. She moved on, tabling her original thought. "How's my bill concerning the protection of chizpurfles?"

"Three things, Hermione." Pansy finally took a bite of her lamb curry and nodded approvingly. "One, that bill is not yours."

"It was my suggestion."

"Not _yours_. It's the department's. And two, witches and wizards don't really care about chizpurfles. They're terrible and ugly and eat wands. _This_ is delicious though. Hats off to Muggles."

That bothered her. The law of the protection and benign treatment of chizpurfles had originally been her idea. It was up to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures to actually get approval and work out all the little kinks, but they didn't seem to have the same emotional attachment that she did. _That's fine. That's not your department._ Hermione felt a little less hungry. "What's three?"

"Three," Pansy continued, "Is that I invited one of the newest employees of the Ministry to join us for lunch today." She tapped her wristwatch. "And…he's late."

"Who?"

"Your ex-boyfriend."

"Victor Krum?"

The black-haired witch scoffed. "You're terrible at jokes. _Terrible_."

Hermione didn't think so. "I haven't dated very many people. And you know as well as I do that Draco is…" Only maybe he wasn't blacklisted from the Ministry because he was there, at the entrance, a ridiculous fur hat on his head.

"Here! Here!" Pansy waved over to her friend who seemed a bit frightened in the small Indian restaurant.

The wizard walked over slowly, baffled and wet from the freezing London rain. Draco pulled out a metal chair next to Pansy and sniffed, "What's that smell?" He placed his (hopefully fake) fur hat on the ground of the restaurant.

"Curry powder." Pansy held out her fork. "It's delicious. Try."

Draco did and nodded approvingly. "I'll have that. Which Muggle do I tell?"

Hermione shrunk a bit in her seat. "Pansy, you failed to mention that he was your ex-boyfriend as well."

The witch across from her grinned. "Well, way to make this awkward, Hermione. I wanted us all to just grab lunch and welcome Draco to the Ministry."

"Oh." So that part had been true. Hermione felt delighted, elated. There was a reason why Draco went back to Hogwarts to get his N.E.W.T.s—he wanted to do something with his life, repent for his time as a Death Eater and contribute to the wizarding world in a positive way. It had been deplorable that he was never given the opportunity to.

"Yes, nothing like grabbing a bite with my two ex-girlfriends. How fun. Does this place sell alcohol as well?" He placed the cloth napkin on his lap. "Pansy failed to mention you'd be here too, Granger."

"You two are no fun. All tense and avoiding each other like we're back in fifth year. Draco, dear, won't you tell Hermione what you're doing for our good old government?"

Draco didn't. Hermione flagged down a waitress and placed an order in for lamb curry. "And a chai for him."

"That doesn't sound alcoholic."

"It isn't, but you'll like it."

The conversation waned after that. Pansy seemed to be enjoying her curry a bit too much. She was smiling and giggling and patting Malfoy on the shoulder. Hermione found herself smiling as well. Though she was still completely uncertain what Draco was doing at the Ministry, she was glad he had found a job.

"Oh! You'll both find this interesting. We're enhancing our regulations on the research facilities for dragons."

"Fascinating," Draco drawled. "Why does everyone always assume I love dragons?"

Hermione couldn't hold back the snort. She blushed, embarrassed. "Your name means dragon."

A steaming cup of chai was placed in front of the blond wizard. Draco eyed it skeptically and took a light sip. His body relaxed and he removed his leather gloves. "Pansy's name can mean a feminine man. Does that…"

"Ah, might not want to go down that path, Draco." Pansy patted his shoulder lightly.

"You'd think it was my Patronus or…"

"Patronus?" The black-haired witch turned completely towards him. "What Patronus?" She shook her head at his refusal to speak and looked back at Hermione. "Anyway, the program is really hitting its stride. We're working with Charles Weasley to ensure that all British facilities have the proper safety regulations for both dragon and researcher. Luna's also working with us."

"Luna? That's fantastic. Have you considered looking into the illegal trafficking as well? I've been seeing an uptick in the number of illegal dragon ownership cases coming to the Wizengamot."

"Owning a dragon?" Draco watched his lamb curry be placed in front of him. He immediately dug in. "Don't most people live in _wooden_ homes?"

Hermione smiled at the blond wizard. "Most people just think dragons are cool pets to own."

"Most people are morons."

"Are we really just sidestepping that Draco knows how to cast a corporeal Patronus? Really?" Pansy huffed. "Look, I'm supposed to meet Rolf Scamander in five minutes. Hermione, you had something to say to me before? Something important?"

No, not anymore. Not with Draco Malfoy sitting across from her. "I have a meeting with Shacklebolt next week. I think he's officially naming me head of the department."

"Brilliant, Hermione! Well earned!" Pansy stared at her wristwatch the entire time.

Draco coolly replied, "I thought you didn't want that."

"Don't be ridiculous, Draco. Of course, Hermione wants that! Now tell me what the Patronus is. Is it a snake? A ferret?"

He ignored her. "Can you tell me why you want to be the department head?"

"I want to make a better wizarding world," Hermione said easily.

"Yes, but _how_ do you want to do it? By running through arcane law after law and locking up people who own cursed plates? How impactful!"

"Very impactful. I agree." Pansy stood and dropped galleons on the table. Hermione gave the gold coins a confused look. "Well this has been great, as always. Love you both, but Rolf Scamander calls. Hermione, I'll keep you posted on the dragons. Draco, good luck with your …alchemy thing." Pansy began to slip out her wand.

Hermione stiffened. "…Outside, Pansy."

"Oh! Of course! Excuse me, Draco. Cheers!" The witch shimmied behind Draco's chair and luckily waited until she was completely out of sight before Apparating.

Draco picked up a galleon. "This is useless here."

"What alchemy thing?"

"What's really bothering you?"

Hermione leaned back and caught his eyes. They were still the same cloud of grey. "You first."

The left side of his lips edged up. "Potter came to ask me for help."

"Oh really?"

"Trust me, I was just as shocked as you. He heard of my work with St. Mungo's and had a similar assignment he wanted me to take a look at."

Hermione played a bit with her food. "So you're working for Harry now?"

He cringed. "I wouldn't phrase it like that."

"I'd phrase it exactly like that."

"And you," he said easily, harshly, "What about you? Not excited to be the next Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?"

"We've talked about this."

"Yes, so that's not what's causing you to look like a wreck."

She sputtered on her tea and sat straighter, insulted even though she knew he was right. "Do you have pounds on you? You can keep Pansy's galleons."

"Hermione…"

"What!" She didn't mean to yell but he always brought out her more…emotional side. "It's fine. Being department head is fine. I just have to make sure my replacement is properly trained and work out my time off with Shacklebolt…"

"I doubt you're the type to ever need more time off." Draco's curry was almost licked clean. He patted down the black tie around his neck, fingers delicately tracing his silver tie clip. "I shouldn't pressure you to tell me things, Granger. I have enough pounds to cover for…"

"I haven't seen Ron for two weeks."

He paused the reach for his wallet. "…what?"

"I haven't been able to tell anyone because everyone I know loves him too and I just…" _God, what am I doing?_ "I meant to tell Pansy, but then you came and I _can't_ talk about this with you."

"Yet here we are."

"Stop. Stop being so bloody obnoxious for one second, okay?" She snapped. _Bollocks._ Hermione inhaled. "He quit the Ministry. He just quit and didn't tell me for _months_. We had a disagreement and then he…"

"And then he saw it fit to abandon you and your two children for weeks? Motherfu…"

"Draco…"

"Excuse me, will you?"

"Draco no."

"What?" He stood up. "Oh, here's thirty pounds. Should be enough?" He dropped the notes on the table. His face was growing red.

Hermione dropped another ten pounds and followed tightly behind the blond wizard. They were on the streets of the City, Hermione incredibly grateful she was wearing low-heeled boots as she jogged to follow Draco's long gait. It was a freezing rain—neither of them bothered to transfigure umbrellas—and she covered her shoulders as Draco looked for a place to Apparate. His right hand gripped his wand fiercely as he turned into an alley, and Hermione sped up and grabbed his elbow.

Draco tried to shrug her off. "Let go of me."

"No."

"I'll splinch you."

"Don't do…don't do whatever you're thinking about doing." Her hair was matted and wet. Her lips were blue and running with raindrops. Hermione tugged on his shoulder until Draco turned around. His hair looked white, translucent with the weight of the water. "It's not your problem."

His right hand loosened and he pocketed his wand. Draco exhaled and his whole body seemed to relax a bit in the dark alley. His voice was low, muffled. "That fucker…"

"Is my husband." She lowered her eyes. "He's my husband. We'll work through it. We'll get through it, but you _can't_ go talk to him _._ "

She thought that would be the end. Draco seemed to calm with her hands on his forearms. The cool rain kept pouring, sloshing through the cobblestones, and the air smelled like wet wool from their jackets. He pushed back a drenched batch of hair from her forehead. "Does he not fucking know, Hermione?"

She flinched.

"Does Weasley not know about us?"

She swallowed, shame building. Guilt and embarrassment and an incredible weakness swarmed her, and Hermione slowly shook her head.

"Fuck, _really?_ And your mad that he's lying?"

"What am I supposed to say, Draco?" She shouted back. "That you and I had a thing when we were teenagers?! What does that matter? It _doesn't._ "

"Then why do you feel guilty about it?"

 _I don't know._ But she did. It was because it did matter. It still mattered. And she hated that. She rubbed her hands together, feeling silly and cold and wet. "Just leave Ron alone." She waited but Draco didn't say a word. "You left your hat at the restaurant."

His hand went to his wet head. Draco chuckled. "What the fuck is wrong with me."

"Sorry?"

"I…I was so angry. I left my bloody hat."

"You've always wanted to knock Ron in the face." She tried to smile. It didn't really work. "I guess I gave you an actual reason to."

"I wasn't going to knock him."

"What were you going to do then?"

He sneered. "I remember he was fond of slug spells…"

She could have gagged. "Let's just get your hat, okay?"

The blond wizard grunted and stayed close to her as he pulled out his wand, changing it to be a fully fleshed black umbrella. "Do you want to share?" His grey eyes looked up.

She remained close to him and whispered, "Okay."


	20. Masquerade

A/N:

Life has a way of throwing things at you so fast and then it's a year later and you forget how much you love this (and the email you used to sign in...) and it's kind of a problem. To all my past readers who find themselves back here, thank you and PLEASE forgive me. For all the new readers, I don't give up easily.

* * *

 **Chapter 20: Masquerade**

 **October 31, 1998**

Tonight was the night and Pansy was not being as helpful as Hermione thought she would be. She needed at least thirty more pumpkins if they were to have a proper contest. The banners were not nearly as full as she had intended, and the shade of orange Pansy had originally cast looked more goldenrod than yam. Hermione flicked her wand and changed it immediately.

It was only 4PM. She had woken up far too late, and Pansy, annoyed that she had not been at the hall during breakfast to setup after, left in a tizzy and said that she'd show up again around six. By then they would only have an hour or so before students came back again for the actual event, so Hermione had asked Ginny and Luna to stop by and give her a hand. Both witches agreed, ecstatic to get a first look at the space.

The long four tables were gone, replaced with only two buffet tables that would be filled with pies and sweets and drinks. The pumpkin juice was on its way, and she promised McGonagall that there would be no butterbeer here, to which the Headmistress then agreed to an afterparty hosted at the Hogs Head.

"I hope there are a lot of tricks here. I would hate for them to be outnumbered by the treats." Luna moved some more candles and started carving strange images into pumpkins.

Hermione didn't bother to question it. "I hope not."

"It's a costume party. The fact that we're dressing up is the trick." Ginny sent Hermione a wink. "What are you being, Hermione?"

She hadn't really thought about that. At all. With all the planning and protecting her head from Draco Malfoy, she never really stopped to thin about what a good costume for Halloween would be. "Not sure yet, you?"

"Well, I managed to swipe one costume but it's not really _that_ much of a costume. You could borrow it if you want."

"I may have to take you up on that."

Ginny gave an approving grin and continued to move autumn leaves about the room. She had managed to cast some enchantment that had them rustle and swirl as if they were caught in a little storm. "And then the snow should come at 8:30?"

"Yes."

"I'm thinking of being a combination of the houses but have yet to decide if I should have the snake around my neck or as my tail." Luna made the tablecloths shimmer a deep bronze.

"Neck," Hermione offered. "Less room to take offense at that. I appreciate the effort for unity."

Luna started to go on about albatrosses before Ginny explained her costume, "He's always going on about how he can't go anywhere without people trying to write newspaper articles about him. And since he can't come, I thought I'd give it a go. You can take my lame costume, Hermione, if you help me with the spells."

She couldn't believe she forgot a costume. It was the aspect of Halloween she had enjoyed the most as a child, but she had been so nervous about the more…wizarding parts of this event that she barely put any thought to it. "Ginny, what do you know about _the Pairing_?"

"Oh, are we doing that?" She shrugged. "My mum said they used to play a version on Valentine's day. Seems a little childish if you ask me."

"I'm sure he'll match you!" Luna hummed.

Hermione jittered and shook her head. She looked at the large harvest moon she had staged at the ceiling of the Great Hall and tried to breathe out her anxiety. There was no way Luna knew. There was absolutely no way.

"She doesn't…she doesn't mean that." Ginny walked over slowly as Luna continued to hum and veer to a distant part of the hall. "I know you and Ron haven't talked in a while. He's an idiot. A complete…"

"I haven't written him either, Ginny."

"I'm sure it'll be fine once you see each other. You'll come to the Burrow over Christmas break?"

She suddenly couldn't think that far ahead. "Of course, Ginny."

"Good. Let's go back. Pansy can finish the rest, but this looks pretty good to me." Ginny turned to the humming blonde. "Luna! We're heading back to the tower. Meet you here at 7?"

Luna never turned but gave them a wave. Ginny grabbed Hermione's hand. "Come on. You'll hate your costume as soon as you see it so you'll probably need to go transfigure yourself a different one."

They walked side by side back to Gryffindor Tower. Hermione whispered, " _Cheese Danishes,_ " and the Fat Lady swung open. Ginny led the way to her room, grabbed a pillowcase from the foot of her bed, and threw it right at her. The thing plopped to Hermione's feet. "Ah! You'll have to do better than that if you're going to pull this off!"

There was only one single item of clothing in the pillowcase, but as soon as she brought it out, she immediately dropped it to the ground. "I _can't_ wear this."

"Won't it be funny though? With all those rumors and how _horrid_ you are…"

"Hey!"

"You are! You're absolutely brilliant at everything else, but Quidditch is not your game. Or flying at all, really. You can wear my pads and goggles and breeches."

"Can't I just wear your everything?" She looked at the mess of green on the floor. "How did you even _get_ this?"

Ginny gave a smile that reminded her too much of her twin brothers. "It actually wasn't too hard. He's not playing this year, so his jersey is just in his locker. They keep it there in case he decides to come back since their current Seeker is horrendous. Not that he's much better, but…"

"I can't go as Draco Malfoy." She dared to pick the thing up. It was too big, for one thing, and it also had his last name branded in big silver letters on the back. "He'll curse me."

"You two bizarrely get along well. Merlin knows _why_ , but I guess those Muggle lessons are actually sinking in. He won't curse you. Just think about the reaction on his _face_."

Hermione did. It was a pretty good reaction.

"Also, full disclosure, Blaise Zabini told me he'd give me twenty galleons if I could get you in this thing." Ginny took the jersey and held it against Hermione. "I'll split it with you?"

She grabbed the green cloth back. It was an interesting material—smooth, sweat-resistant—and it smelled like mint and musk and _him._ "I hope this has been washed."

.

.

The Great Hall was packed. It had been packed since seven o'clock, and she kept on getting hard slaps on the back from different animals and magical creatures and a very good Peeves impersonation by Justin Finch-Fletchly. She expected the Slytherins to be angry and horrible, but they weren't at all. They cheered as she walked by and asked her when she'd be back on a broom.

"Oh god, never." She didn't even get too into the outfit. As Ginny suggested, she had borrowed her breeches and gloves and pads, but she didn't have the Slytherin robes and she had to wear her own leather boots since she was a size smaller than Ginny.

Pansy ran up to her, dressed like a Cornish pixie, and tugged at her arm. "Everything looks close to perfect. People seem to be having fun. I could go as far as to say that we make a pretty good team, Granger." Her eyes darted down and her face dropped. "Oh Merlin. What are you wearing?"

"It's meant to show unity." She shrugged, pretending to be incredibly nonchalant. Hermione let herself look at the hall around her. The whole room was shaded in sunset pinks and oranges. Gourds of all shapes and sizes lined the walls, and the big harvest moon was directly overhead. Even the professors seemed to get decently into the Halloween spirit. Hagrid was attempting to carve a dragon shape into a rather large pumpkin. McGonagall swapped her pointed hat for cat ears and Slughorn was dressed like Santa, passing out candy. _Well, we all can't get the traditions right._

"Well, Draco has never looked better." The blue glitter on her eyelashes sparkled as she grinned. "He'll like it. If there's anything Draco Malfoy _loves_ it's himself."

"Pansy…"

"He won't be here for another hour or two, so relax a bit." The girl gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and went to go talk to Millicent Bulstrode, who seemed to be dressed as some sort of tiger-lion.

She carved a pumpkin the traditional "Muggle-way" to Ginny's amusement, ate some meat pies, and then had to deal with a rather buzzed Pansy Parkinson asking her to dance "for old time's sake." The harvest moon, full and orange, was starting to fade to a silver crescent. The sunset transitioned to a light blue night and she could see the frost begin to develop on the tops of the pumpkins.

She was grabbing another glass of punch when a hand touched her shoulder. "I'll be happy to share a room with you tonight."

Her initial reaction was to throw the drink in the man's face, but instead she flat out laughed. Blaise Zabini was dressed all in pink. He had diamond bracelets on his wrists, a pointed pink hat on his head, and even a fake manicure. On his pink cardigan was a big button, _Inquisitorial Squad_ written in bold letters.

Hermione crossed her arms. "Why, Professor, I believe it's illegal to hit on students."

"I owe Ginny money, now. Shit. Didn't think you'd actually do it."

She smelled firewhisky off his breath. "Are you pissed?"

Blaise Zabini held a finger over his mouth and hushed her. "Your golden snitch is waiting outside. Took one look at you and _bolted._ "

"He what? My _what?_ "

"I know about all of…that." He awkwardly gestured to Hermione and the snake crest on her chest. "No big deal. Don't yell at him for it." He patted her on the head and walked off, apparently deeming their conversation to be over with.

That was not a problem with Hermione. Though the fact that Draco had seen her and ran away was not a terrific sign. The band was playing louder and louder, and Hermione stole one treacle tart before edging away from the crowds. It appeared that Draco had not simply run out of the Great Hall, but he had run outside. She walked slowly to the outside deck. It was decorated similarly to the inside of the hall, frosted pumpkins and leaves scattered on the paved stones. The real sky was bleak, clouded, the moon not shining at all. One or two couples were to the far left as she walked through the entrance, already too close.

She looked around and saw Draco leaning on the bannister. He was wearing a long, oversized plaid flannel shirt, the buttons open. His jeans were bleached and baggy, and he had a ridiculous beanie. "Malfoy? Did you want to see me?"

He turned completely, revealing a turtleneck jumper with a waistcoat. "Yes."

"You look…"

He grabbed her wrist and dragged her to the right, far, far away from the entrance and the other couples. _Other couples?_ She wetted her lips as he dragged her closer. He was rough, almost primal, when his lips met hers, his hands digging into her hips, clawing at her through his jersey. He kissed the side of her cheeks, down her neck, and his hands slid upwards to the sides of her breasts. She ran her hands through his hair and grabbed his beanie. "You…you're ridiculous."

"Am I?" He glanced up and kissed her lips. "You're a tease."

"I'm what?" She placed her hands on his chest.

Draco smirked. "You're here in _that_. Can you turn around?"

She crossed her arms and stood stolidly in front of him. Draco laughed to himself and walked behind her. "Yup. Like I thought. My name's on your back." He kissed her hard. "You taste like syrup."

"It's the tarts. You should come inside and have some." She touched his face. He was cold. "You like my outfit?"

Draco rolled his eyes and took a step back. He crossed his arms, cocked his head to the side, and said, "Your hair isn't tied back per regulation, and I'm pretty sure those boots can't properly sit a broom."

 _Always a charmer_. "Well at least I'm not…" She blinked at him. "What _are_ you?"

"A Muggle."

"You aren't."

"I am. I had my mum ship me things from London. She apparently bought these rags off some bloke named Mark Spencer."

Her stomach hurt from laughing. Hermione leaned back on the bannister, overwhelmed by what he said and what he was wearing and just this whole situation. "You…you're a Muggle? And I'm dressed in your Quidditch uniform?" She shook her head. "I think we're cracking."

His eyes widened at that before he shrugged. "Maybe we are, but I like you in that."

"I _hate_ you in that." Hermione fingered the buttons on his waistcoat. "You look positively insane."

He dipped his head again and kissed her. Her body was smashed between him and the bannister, and she opted to lean into him and all of his plaid flannel. Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck and tugged him down. His lips were warm and malleable and so, so soft. He tasted like firewhisky and mints, smelled like old leather and the alcohol tinging his breath. His hands went back down to her waist, and with a sinister grin, Malfoy lifted her on top of the bannister so that he was eye-level with her neck. "Don't look behind you," he murmured before licking her collarbone.

She could barely talk. Her breathing was rampant from him and his stupid lips, but she managed to mutter, "Why?"

"Because you're afraid of heights, aren't you?"

She pushed back a bit from him, and Draco looked up, annoyed that she removed his contact from her skin. "I am _not."_

"Then why do you hate flying so much?"

He seemed genuinely interested, which surprised her. Draco rubbed her arms up and down, his eyes completely focused on her sore lips. Hermione wriggled on the banister. "I hate brooms."

"Same question applies."

"It's dumb." She gripped his shoulders and slid down against him. She could feel his stomach contract against her, his muscles bend and twist at her touch. His eyebrows rose, and for the first time, Hermione realized that she had some weird power over Draco Malfoy. She placed her hand on his chest and felt his heart flutter. The whole thing made her feel incredibly…nervous. "You really should try the tarts."

"I want to kiss you a bit more." He leaned in and did. "We can't do that when we go in. Unless…"

"We can stay out here," she interrupted. "Five more minutes."

His face fell before he replied, "Ten."

"Seven and a half."

"Nine."

"Eight."

He didn't waste any more time talking. Under the clouded lantern light, he brushed his lips slowly across hers. He tugged on her swollen lower lip, and she shivered against him, leaned in more to feel his breath and heart and stomach churn. He made her feel things very, very strongly. She didn't know what better way to describe it. He infuriated every bit of her, but then he would go and say and look and do _this_.

She felt completely daft as she examined the angles of his face, the point of his nose, the way his hair almost looked silver in the dim lighting. His tongue flicked against hers and she pushed on him more, keeping herself steady with her hands on his chest. His pressed over the creases of the jersey—her chest, her spine, her breasts. Hermione broke their contact and inhaled. "Why a Muggle?"

"Why me?"

"Blaise is paying me 10 galleons."

He snorted and curved his mouth on hers quickly. "I wanted to see what it would be like on me. And apparently, it's just ridiculous. You look bloody sexy by the way. I don't think I told you that."

All the heat rushed to her face. She felt like she was fourteen again, like a famous Seeker had just asked her to the Yule Ball. _No, it's not like that._ She wasn't trying to make anyone else jealous. She wasn't trying to impress anyone at all except the boy in front of her, and that nervousness itched through her. "We should really go inside. Ginny will probably get suspicious."

"Don't worry." He maneuvered her body towards the door. "I have a plan. Just go in and get all frustrated like you normally do with me."

"I do not get frustrated with you!"

He raised one eyebrow, and Hermione scrunched her nose. Draco tapped her lightly on the shoulder again and she asked, "You want to go in now? It hasn't been eight minutes."

"I'll cash in later. You're too paranoid right now." He waved her off and Hermione started walking back inside. Once they approached the Great Hall doors, Draco started shouting, "How did your filthy hands even get to that Granger?!"

Her "filthy hands" paused on the doorknob and she looked back at Malfoy, nonplussed. His face was cool and pale, lips red and chapped from her. He grinned. "Too much?"

Hermione opened the doors to the Great Hall. "This dance is about _unity_ , Malfoy. I'm sorry that I thought wearing this would help bring that. But you're right. How could wearing some sniveling, spoiled brat's shirt ever help?"

The other students were looking at them. _Good._ Hermione had a flash of nostalgia, and she remembered the times she listened to this boy berate and tear down her friends. It surprised her that those feelings came back so easily. That even though she knew Malfoy didn't mean it, she still felt the dull pang of pain in her ribs and the desire to punch him in the nose.

"Take it off then."

She blanched. "What?"

"I want it back." Draco held out his hand. "Give it here, Granger. Unless you want me to report you for stealing."

He was bluffing—she didn't need Legilimency to tell that. Draco wanted her to argue back, to fight to wear it. He was too happy looking, his features calm and light, his chin down and equal instead of up and defiant. Malfoy widened his eyes as if to elicit a response from her, but instead Hermione loosened the elbow pads.

Draco took a step closer to her. "What are you doing?"

"Giving you your shirt back." Her eyes glanced at the room around her. "In the spirit of unity. You're right. I should have asked. I'm sorry if you were _insulted_ by my appearance, Malfoy." Her tone suggested anything but. She took the left pad off and he took another step closer. She failed to see why he was red and embarrassed looking; she had a black long sleeve shirt under the thing. But his fists were clenching as she rolled the shirt over her torso and threw it back at his chest. "There you go. No harm no foul. Want me to burn it for you? I'm sure you can barely stand to touch the thing."

Muttering and frustrated, Draco balled the shirt up and squished it in his back pocket. He looked somewhat amused as he shook his head, and Hermione wanted to go and grab his hand. Ginny was pushing through the crowds, and Draco's face turned from amused to horrified. She was dressed in a grey jumper, a red and gold tie, and trousers. Hermione had managed to cast a charm to shorten and darken her hair and even make a believable looking lightning-shaped scar on her forehead. "Leave her alone, Malfoy."

His shoulders sunk. Malfoy removed the beanie from his head and sneered, "You're fucking _kidding_ me," before turning around and disappearing in the cloud of costumed students.

Ginny turned back to Hermione, hands on her hips, looking annoyed and confused. "I was expecting a bit more of a confrontation."

"He's pissed." Hermione tried to explain before picking up the dropped pads. "Probably has a headache from all the shouting."

"I can't believe he's still the same little prick."

"He's not the same," she said before she could stop herself. "He's…broken."

"I really thought he wouldn't be mad. He's normally almost decent around you. Sorry, Hermione."

"Let's just get more punch." Her mouth was incredibly dry. She could still taste him. Hermione scanned the area, but there was no sight of Malfoy. "I think _the Pairing's_ soon."

.

.

 **April 17, 2018**

Muggles (and wizards) make mirrors by applying a reflective coating to some sort of smooth, rigid surface. The most common surface, or substrate, typically used when constructing mirrors is glass, while the coating is layers of tin to silver to copper and then paint for the back finish. He had read and understood the process of making mirrors both the Muggle and wizard way (Muggles used chemicals, wizards used spells) for about a week before the Mirror of Erised was brought to his office in the cellar of the Ministry. Well, technically the whole Ministry was a cellar, but he was at the absolute bottom level which resembled more of a warehouse than an actual functioning branch of a government body.

He refused to work under Potter, though because he had been commissioned by the Auror office and Harry Potter was head of the Auror office, it made his contract a bit complicated. He also refused to work under Hermione Granger, who happened to be head of the whole department, so Potter had assigned him under the purview of the Department of Mysteries. Draco supposed that department did apply—his research was pretty confidential and no one had ever dared to do what he was attempting to do…well unless he counted the first time.

The mirror and he were sectioned off from the other miscellaneous departments that occupied the basement level of the Ministry. The Department of Mysteries was a mess of a floor—too dangerous and just _bizarre_ for him to focus and get consistent alchemy done. The bottom floor was mostly quiet and vacant. There were few, if any people milling about, and they usually left him alone. Draco liked that.

His subject itself was haunting enough. The Mirror of Erised was gold and ancient and huge. When it was first delivered to him, the mirror's surface was covered with brown paper. Potter had come with it and touched the side almost longingly.

" _Men have gone mad looking at this."_

He had sniffed at Potter's warning and asked if he was allowed to break the thing.

The answer was, of course, no, and Draco, despite thinking Potter was being a bit dramatic, never stood directly in front of the mirror. He sat on a stool to the direct left with a tiny thin needle. He needed more sample of the coating, so Draco meticulous scratched the surface into a small mason jar. This had been the same process for months. Scratch a little and try to bleed as much data as he could from the sample. Research more about metal compounds. Research even _more_ about when this mirror was actually made and by who so he could attempt to recreate the damn thing. It was nearly impossible, complicated, and unguided. Merlin, he _loved_ it.

There was a knock on the door to his warehouse of an office, but Draco didn't bother turning. Potter would visit him too often with requests for status updates or (in a bit of insanity one day) if he wanted to get lunch. He was ready to ignore the incessant hero again when he noticed that the footsteps were lighter, that there was no annoyingly loud shout of " _Malfoy!"_. Instead, there was a slight cough and clearing of the throat before Draco dropped the pick and turned from his stool. "To what do I owe the pleasure, Granger?"

"Do you know what this is?" The witch was entranced. She raised her hand in front of the object, dazzled. Her hair was up in a tight, frizzy bun and she wore baggy tweed trousers and a loose white blouse. She looked incredibly dull, normal, and he couldn't stop watching. Hermione's mouth turned as she stared at the reflection. Her face was bright, clear, and she looked like she was about to laugh from sheer joy.

He certainly did. He had read about the thing for over a month before coming to the Ministry for the first time as an employee, and then waited another week for the thing to be delivered and setup. "Hermione, move away from the mirror." He stepped in front of it, his back facing the reflective surface.

"This is…Draco, get out of the frame. You're…"

He stood in front of her and placed his hands on her shoulders. Hermione shook herself out of the trance and exhaled deeply, chest rising. Draco watched her face, rosy and shaken. He stroked her arms. "It's not a toy."

"I… I don't know what I saw."

"And I don't want to know. Your deepest desires?" He scoffed. "I'll have nightmares."

"So it's true? Harry's letting you work with the Mirror of Erised?"

"Letting? He asked me to. He came to my doorstep and recruited me." Draco crossed his arms. "It was quite sad, actually. Seeing a grown man _beg_ like that."

"I find it hard to believe that Harry begged you." Hermione glanced sideways, eyeing the mirror dangerously even as she stepped further and further away from him. "What is he having you do with it?"

He shrugged and took a step back as well, not daring to look at the glass behind him. It was a tedious process to collect samples, and he held out his hands, cracking his knuckles before yawning. "Recreate it."

Hermione snorted, immediately covering her mouth after the sound worked its way out. She flushed and removed her hand, holding her head a bit higher though he could see the timidity in her shoulders, the gentle weakness in her muscles. _What does she want? What is she doing here?_ He wouldn't ask. He was curious as hell, but those questions may lead to other things like what she had actually seen in that mirror. He could not know that. Fortunately, the witch was still too busy laughing at him. "You're joking."

"I'm actually not."

"Harry asked you…"

" _Begged_ me."

She raised an eyebrow but continued, "…to recreate the Mirror of Erised? To what end?"

That was an answer Draco was not privy to. And in all honesty, he was surprised that she wasn't either. "Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

She opened her mouth, ready to retaliate, but seemed to think better. "I'm not in the weeds of what the Aurors do."

"Is this considered a weed?"

"Malfoy…"

He flinched at his surname. It had been a long time since he had heard it, especially from her. He felt the edge of his mouth quirk up. "I'm sure you have other things to do besides stand there and watch me pick at glass. You are next in line for Minister, correct? Is babysitting me a requirement? Should I expect Shacklebolt here shortly?"

"I just wanted to see how you were getting on."

"Well," he said honestly. "I don't have much progress to report just yet, but I think I should be able to figure out roughly 10% of the compounds by the end of the week."

"10%?" She sounded incredulous. "That soon?"

"I am good at this." He was haughty but honest. "Potter wouldn't have asked me here if I weren't." At least he hoped that was the case, that he wasn't some sort of pity project Potter suddenly felt an obligation towards. Christmas had been…strange. His body had been sore for days after playing Quidditch with his rival, and the old flume of petty hate had worked its way back into his head when Harry caught the Snitch and he did not. But it was exactly that—petty. The jealousy and rage soon evaporated when Harry's wife dismounted the broom and proclaimed that the scoring system was completely heavy handed and bias and that the original creator was certainly a Seeker. He had stifled a laugh at her ridiculous but could not help the sound from escaping when he had glanced over to Hermione Granger, looking ragged and altogether bored out of her mind.

She didn't look that way now. She was too attentive, back straight, eyes wide as she bit her lip in front of him. His mind flashed back to their past conversations, them edging that line of their history without tipping over, knowing that if they swayed one way, they might completely fall off the edge. They shouldn't do that. Draco _couldn't_ do that, and he was suddenly pissed that she was here. "Why don't you go?"

"Go?" Her voice caught. "Draco, I just meant to…"

"Check in on me. See how I am." He turned around, not glancing at the mirror at his back. Swiftly, he moved to his desk and meticulously started stacking his books, re-categorizing the already organized piles.

"Draco, please."

"No." He froze. _Please what?_ What did she want from him? He should have been at the Manor with Astoria. She had been fine, excited that he had some way to occupy his time, she said, besides fuss over her. But shouldn't he fuss over her? Shouldn't he want to? "I don't know how many times I have to tell you, Granger. We're not friends. We weren't built to be friends."

"And you expect me to just pretend you're not here?"

"I expect you to treat me like an employee." He turned and leaned on the desk. "Do you treat all your employees like this?"

She bristled and crossed her arms. Her face seemed tired, he then noticed, dark circles painted under her eyes even in the unnatural glow of the basement. Draco felt his fingers curl on the desk. Her shirt was wrinkled, hair too frizzy even for her. He wanted her to bite back, to huff and leave and be annoyed with me, but instead her mouth only formed a tight, straight line, her chest heaving up and down.

"You haven't been sleeping."

Her arms relaxed. "No."

"Is Ron back?"

Her eyebrows rose, probably at the use of her husband's first name. Draco didn't give a shit. He didn't take it back or move any closer to her. "He came back last night."

"This is the what, Granger? The third time?"

She didn't say anything. She didn't move but her eyes were welling and Draco found himself walking towards her, hands digging into his pockets so he wouldn't touch her. The witch flinched away as he approached, backpedaling. "I shouldn't come to you about this."

"You shouldn't." Draco agreed and swallowed.

"I don't know why…"

"Who else are you going to tell? Who else would…"

"My parents." The answer was obvious as soon as she said it. "I could talk to my mum or even my father about this. They know Ron and the kids. They know that…"

"Then why don't you?"

Her eyes flashed up, angry again. "You can just tell me to go, Draco, if that's what you really want."

 _I don't._ He wanted to touch her again. Even now, he could remember what her skin felt like, what it meant to be over her, to have her breath hit his neck and his fingers get caught in that wild mess of brown. He could feel her lips, moist and breaking, graze the dip in his neck, touch his nose, taste his tongue. And he felt warm and anxious and so, so _terrible_. He tugged at the lining in his pockets. "You should go, Hermione."

"I should? But do…"

"That doesn't matter." He couldn't help the acidity in his tone. "Don't _do_ this. Don't drag me into this. This is not about us."

"I didn't…"

"I don't want this to be about us." He watched as her shoulders fell, watched as that welling bubble and turn into tears on her cheek. He had made her cry before—many, many times before. This was only the second time that it ripped his heart out. "I want you to go."

Her brashness had her mouth opening, and he was about to call her a stupid, narrow-minded Gryffindor until she wiped at her face. "I don't know what you are to me." It came out surprisingly strong for a woman who was crying. "But you're right. Of course, you are. Excuse me."

 _Hermione…_

Though his mouth wouldn't budge. Draco held in his breath, bit his tongue as Hermione patted down her shirt. "Can you tell?" She touched her cheeks. "That I've been…"

"No." He allowed himself to say, and with a curt nod, Hermione turned and left back towards the lifts. He watched her the whole way, listened to the soft tap of her heels echo on the concrete long after he couldn't see her any longer.

He saw her at night when he was leaving for home. Her face was long and shaking, and he reached for her hand in the empty lift. She gripped him hard, and he heard the harsh intake of breath. They never looked at each other.


	21. Proposals

A/N: Sorry about that...

Is that even worth saying? Unclear. Point is I'm back and ready to go. Hope you are too :)

* * *

 **Chapter 21: Proposals**

 **May 15, 2017**

"We're pulling a significant profit this month from the Hogsmeade store mostly, but Diagon Alley has also seen an increase since we presented the new line."

Hermione lowered the sheet of parchment and nodded towards her husband. He was exuberant today, eyes shining, mouth wide. Ron was passionate. They weren't fighting. Hugo was sitting on the rug adding a park to his city of LEGOs. She felt positively warm. "More full-grown witches and wizards like George than you expected?"

"Who knew!" He scratched the stubble of red on his chin before collapsing on the couch next to her. "How was your day?"

"Fine, thank you." She smiled and started to read again. It was Harry's proposal. He had been foolishly late giving it to her, and Hermione had half the mind he had no intention of handing the thing over at all. It was only when she threatened to reject his holiday request to Greece that she found three sheets of parchment on her desk. He had called it a cruel tactic, something worthy of a Slytherin. Hermione had failed to see the insult.

"My dad keeps passing on what Shacklebolt says about you." He nudged her arm with his elbow to draw her attention. "His terms up this fall."

"I know that." The clause Harry had written was incredibly too vague, and her friend's handwriting was already a mess which did nothing for clarity. Hermione read the same passage over again.

' _The Mirror of Erised, if decomposed, can provide us with another avenue besides Veritaserum, which, as of course you know, takes one whole moon cycle to develop. I think we can take it one step deeper besides truth and fact but to intent.'_

"Intent?"

"Hermione?"

She jerked up and lowered the parchment. "Shacklebolt and I have a meeting next week. I'm sure we'll discuss who his replacement should be." Her attention immediately strayed to her son on the ground. He was humming gently, one finger up his nose as he placed a small bush next to a bench.

"I'm also sure it'll be a quick discussion."

That was something they didn't agree with. Hermione didn't…she didn't know what she wanted. Her mind had been frantic. She missed her daughter terribly. Rose and her energy and spirit and fire. Her first year had gone horribly slow, and Hermione had half the thought to not let her go back. Reflex had her look at Hugo again. His letter had arrived two weeks ago. She hadn't told Ron yet.

Though, she would tell herself, she did not have much opportunity to tell Ron. They had just barely recovered from their argument last month—some ridiculous spat of her not being invested. She didn't know what that meant. Invested in his happiness? Of course, she wanted him to be happy even if she didn't know what made him that way anymore. She knew what wouldn't. She knew that when she told him what Hugo said when the owl pecked on their window, he would shut down again. He would run to the Burrow or the Joke Shop and they wouldn't talk about it again until another fight.

She placed the first page of the proposal down. Work, if anything, was stable. It was consuming and important, and Hermione didn't mind burying herself in it. This proposal was long for Harry Potter. She had become accustomed to his half-page summaries, but this document was at least three whole sheets. And on the second page, the rushed scrawl of Harry's writing transformed into fluid ink. The letters were uniform, scripted, and refined.

' _I am not quite familiar with a formal proposal of this nature and have considered starting the proposed methodology with a brief history of Alchemy. But, Mr. Potter has emphasized that I reconsider my audience so I will refrain from restating anything the so-called brightest witch of the age should know already.'_

Hermione leaned back into the couch. It was hard to fight the smile.

' _I am also under the impression that proposals are meant to be approved before any project is initiated, but as this specifies Auror application and not my own research, perhaps that will not lead to any disciplinary action against Mr. Potter. Or perhaps it will. I will leave that to my audience's discretion.'_

She could hear him say those words and her fingers dug into the parchment even more. She was, more or less, familiar with the history of Alchemy and some of the fundamentals but she couldn't begin to understand actual implementation and practice. Not in the way Malfoy could.

"Something interesting?"

She didn't look away from the page. "Yes."

"Can I see?"

"It's an unapproved proposal from the Ministry."

He leaned over and took a glance at the page she had laid down on the coffee table. "It looks like Harry's…"

Hermione snapped the page away and dragged it back to her chest. Ron jerked back, eyebrows knitting together. She folded the parchment over. "I can't let you read this."

"Hermione, this isn't my first proposal. I've written them for Merlin sake."

"That was when you were a Ministry professional. Now that…" She stopped herself. His face was already getting red and she couldn't, wouldn't have him running out again. Hugo stood from the floor, LEGOs forgotten. _This isn't okay._ She let her shoulders fall, rolling her neck as she closed her eyes. _We're not okay._ "Do you want to get lunch tomorrow?"

If anything, her husband seemed more on edge at the suggestion. Ron took a sip of water. Whatever warmth he had after dinner was immediately gone. "I have to run the shop tomorrow afternoon."

"In Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade?"

"Hogsmeade."

"I'll Apparate there."

"I can't…"

"I'll bring you something." She insisted though the man only seemed to be frowning more. Ron shifted his weight from the couch and gave Hugo a quick kiss on his head. Hermione swallowed. "Whatever you want."

"Whatever _you_ want, Hermione."

"Twelve then." She was never one to back down. "I'll see you at twelve sharp."

Her husband nodded in reply and moved towards the hallway, head down. There was a chill in the air, though the weather was mild. Hugo was still standing, and she could see the frown start to bend on his face.

Hermione cleared her throat. "I love you, you know." It was sharp, quick, and had him turning.

"I love you too."

.

.

 **October 31, 1998**

Draco had reclaimed his eight minutes and then some within the hour after they entered the Great Hall. It had almost taken that long to find a spot where there were no other students snogging, and then another five or so for him to find her and have his hand up her undershirt. The point of his nose brushed over her ear. "That stupid charm. I'll forever be turned on by lemon tarts thanks to you."

She laughed before grabbing the beanie off his head. "I abhor this."

"Hermione Granger." His fingers floated down from her breast to her waist. He fingered over her hip bone and she felt her spine curl. "I knew you were a swot but vain too?"

"I am not vain."

"Maybe not about your own appearance." He leaned down and kissed her, sucking at her top lip. He pulled his mouth away just as he tugged her hips closer to his own. She could feel the heat around him and it was consuming, intoxicating. She suddenly regretted bartering him down to only eight minutes. "Would you still be here if I weren't so handsome?"

"Pretty is the word I would use." She realized she had only been reacting under his body, his initial touches. _Aren't I brave?_ Normally she felt that way, but around him, she felt shier, more careful when it came to her actions and not her words. She decided to match her tongue and moved forward. Draco curved back as if he expected her to move away. Instead, Hermione moved her hand to his neck to force him close. He sighed when she stroked under his jawline, and she took that as incentive to touch her mouth there. His breath jumped and she felt immensely satisfied when she looked back and saw clouded grey. "And no."

"I'd say you're telling the truth." The slickness of his tone was more breathy, weak. His cheeks were flushed red. "But I've seen Krum. Not your best."

She went back to his neck. "And you are?"

"Absolutely."

He caught her again, this time more rapid, sloppy. His fingers became harsh against her stomach, and she had the brief wonder if she would bruise. She didn't care. She wanted him closer if possible, but it wasn't. He was already pressed against her, knee in between her legs, hands on the small of her back pushing them together. His mouth curved over her own, and she felt the air escape her. He was all heat and power and…and…

Hermione sighed as he cupped her backside, his tongue finding its way from her mouth to the edge of her ear. She flushed. "What are you…"

"Snogging." His smirk was devilish. "Though I can be persuaded to do something else."

She ran her hands down his shoulders, across his chest. "Oh really? What else would you want to do? Quidditch?"

His smile deepened as he shook his head. "No…"

 _Oh._ Whatever bravery she once felt flooded out of her. Hermione grabbed Draco's hands and wrapped them within her own. "We'll be noticed if we don't head back soon."

"Fuck it. I don't…"

"I'm not…"

At her hesitation, Draco stepped back. His fingers moved within her own before he licked his own chapped lips. "That's fine, Hermione."

The heat of his body was gone, but he was still staring at her, grey eyes so focused and trained on her face, as if he were waiting to see what he could do next, if he _should_ do anything. She felt silly, embarrassed, and dropped his grip as she covered her chest. "You must think I'm a little girl. That I'm…scared so I just push down on the brakes."

"Brakes?" He raised an eyebrow and reached back for her hand. "Like for an automobile? Why would you say…"

"Because I stopped you."

"Is this some sort of idiom? Because we were…going too fast?"

"Yes."

"Oh." Draco rubbed her arms and she could feel the light hair rise, her breath quicken even from the soft touch. The hall was cool besides his body next to hers and his hair seemed to shine in the relative darkness. "That's alright. That's always alright." He hesitated before leaning in, waiting for her to move to meet him. When she did, he moved to kiss her tender, the lightness of his breath almost tickling and sending soft ripples to her chest. "Here. For unity."

She grabbed the jersey from his outstretched hand and put it on. The physicality was gone when she looked back at him. The orange torchlight shrouded his face, making him look like all angles, crisp and strong. Like a statue, a work of absolute, pure art that she had studied and studied for years but was only now appreciating. And her chest felt too full as he smiled back at her, moving his head to the side while pushing back her hair.

"I made it frizzier if possible."

She made the same gesture, patting down the feather-light strands of silver. "Yours isn't great either."

"Maybe I should put the beanie back on."

"Um, absolutely not."

Draco moved a hand to fix his hair himself. "Better?" He shook his head and took another step back, taking away all his heat too. "Wait am I asking you about hair? You're ruining me, Granger."

"Same here, Malfoy."

"Want to stop?" He said it so casually, but his eyes were diverted to the ground, hands twisting into his pockets to not show them shaking. The question threw her off guard and she waited for more reasoning, an explanation for the sudden question.

But Malfoy didn't move to speak. He didn't do _anything_ but look at the ground and his poorly tied shoes. And she realized he was waiting her answer. "Not yet."

"Good, then let's go back." Malfoy walked back towards the Great Hall pausing briefly when Hermione didn't follow."

"I'll leave in a few minutes. You go ahead first."

She expected some quip about her need to recover but Draco remained silent before shrugging and walking away.

.

.

There were three different parts of the Pairing according to Geraldine Gryffindor. The first was an evaluation of potential and current wealth and status. This traditionally involved pulling mandrakes up from the ground (Ears covered, of course) and measuring the lengths of their roots. Professor Sprout nearly had a stroke when Hermione suggested using mandrakes for a dance so she and Pansy had to resign themselves to turnips and kale.

They did it by house—the Gryffndors pulling up vegetables with roots more than above the average length. Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff was a mixed bag of results, and Slytherin had been surprisingly short. "Depressing really." Pansy held up the short root. "I'm chalking this up to using kale. Though yours is a fair length, Granger."

It was decently long, probably 15 centimeters or so, but she was particularly more focused on the dirt now on her—Draco's—jersey. They hadn't spoken since they left the dark light of the halls, but even now she found herself glancing at him, trying to gauge the root length of his turnip.

"I'd say 20, maybe only 18 cm." Pansy yawned, the makeup on her eyes starting to bleed a bit. "Surprising. You'd think a Malfoy's money _alone_ would be 20."

"Maybe he'll never get married."

Pansy guffawed. "I swear sometimes you're an absolute idiot. The day Lucius Malfoy doesn't have an heir would be the day I start snogging Hufflepuffs." With a sigh, Pansy took a bite of her kale stalk. "Weird, tastes like nothing. I probably marry a total bore. Millicent must have a brother."

Hermione choked down her laugh and took a small bite of her own stalk. It was a weird tradition—and most likely why Sprout was so upset at the suggestion. Not only did the root length supposedly predict your future joint fortune, it also gave you insight into your spouse's future personality. Hermione, however, only felt the sharp taste of kale. "Who's giving us the final pair?"

"McGonagall actually." Ginny surprised both Pansy and Hermione with her approach. The root of her turnip was about as long as Draco Malfoy's. "Do I really have to eat this?"

"Only if you want to be 100% sure that you're going to marry Mr. Savior one day." Pansy flicked the turnip. "What does hero taste like?"

Ginny chewed. "Like turnip. When's the after party?"

The short, black-haired Slytherin ran a finger through her bob. "I've never liked you more than I do now, Weasley."

"It's mean that your hiding the firewhisky, Parkinson." The red-head held out her hand. "I thought this was a peace treaty between Gryffindor and Slytherin."

"Never _peace_. More like…" She pulled a flask from her bra and gave it to Ginny. "…mutual respect."

"Better than we were."

The shorter girl nodded. "Better than we were."

Hermione wasn't offered any alcohol, much to her surprise and dismay. Pansy and Ginny fell into their own sort of small talk, and she was left with dirt on her green jersey and wondering if she would really be forced to burn nuts. The second part of the Pairing was intended to evaluate the quality of the potential relationships. And of course, the only way to determine the longevity and happiness of a witch's and wizard's marriage was by burning magic peanuts.

"I think you should take two."

Hermione flinched, almost sputtered, when she saw Blaise lean over her shoulder, enchanted nails touching her neck. Her eyelashes flittered. "I think you have lipstick on your teeth."

"That isn't mine." The Slytherin grinned and it was painfully clear the shade on his lips didn't match the one on his teeth. "Some people are just hot for teacher."

The groan from Hermione's mouth could not be stopped. They were combining traditions—burning the magic peanuts in individual jack-o-lanterns and then gathering the remains to be read at the final part of the Pairing. Her eyes traced the crowded hall for silver hair, but Malfoy was once again lost in the mob of students. Hermione found that odd though. She wasn't sure who he could be possibly hanging out with besides her, Blaise, or Pansy. _Are you jealous?_ She twitched at her own thought and turned back to Blaise as a distraction. "I thought you only take two if you are deciding between two wizards."

"But aren't you?" He raised an eyebrow in anticipation for a reaction. Hermione had the grit to keep her face even. "We're eighteen, Hermione. Half of us haven't even met the person we're supposed to marry yet. Can't hurt to have two, can it?"

"How many are you burning?" She felt herself follow Blaise Zabini to the row of burning pumpkins. To the left of each pumpkin was a small can of magic peanuts. Hermione knelt down in the Quidditch uniform and picked up two randomly. They looked the same. About the same width and height and texture. There was really nothing, in a least normal terms, that would cause them to burn any differently from the other.

"Six."

"Six?!"

"I like having options."

She expected that to sound snide or lilting, but it didn't. Blaise sounded deathly serious and it was just confusing. She didn't know this boy at all. Unlike Draco, who she absolutely abhorred for years and thought she knew _very_ well, she had no actual impression of Blaise besides that he was a slag and must have been terrible for being friends with Draco. And now, well, now she knew better to judge him based on either of those things. She cleared her throat, "Is there some sort of advantage to burning six?"

The boy seemed surprised her response was less biting. "You know this is all bullshit, right?" Blaise sighed seeing her shrug. "No real advantage besides that I get the chance to compare six different girls. I can make it seven and burn one for you. Thoughts?"

A hand wrapped on her shoulder, long fingers massaging her through the green shirt. "I knew you always had a thing for me, Blaise, but leave Granger out of this. It's not her fault my uniform triggered you."

Hermione calmed at the sound of Malfoy's voice. "I do wonder if the old traditions take into account same sex couples. I'm sure there's an updated version we can involve for you, Blaise, if you'd like me to chec…"

"You two are awful together. Have I mentioned that? An absolute nightmare." 'Umbridge' pushed Draco's shoulder. "The crowds are watching Mr. Malfoy."

"Fuck them." His hand slid down Hermione's forearm and waved Blaise off-though it seemed the other Slytherin wanted to escape from them anyway.

Hermione expected Draco to back off and away from her, but his hand was still on her and she felt flushed, heated from his proximity. She wanted to ask if he was sure about this. Because she wasn't. She wasn't quite ready to announce her relationship with Draco Malfoy, and…did they even _have_ a relationship? Did snogging and a few dates mean anything besides just snogging and a few dates?

"Is this enough display of unity, Granger?"

She turned to him. The witch could imagine him saying the same thing to her two years ago, the intonation in his voice still sharply sarcastic. The hand on her didn't loosen up. "I could use a bit more."

He moved closer until they were flushed, his chest against her back. Draco's breath was hot on her neck. "I'm assuming the root you pulled up was 2 cm."

"Oh I think it's a bit longer than that." She had shoved the piece of kale into her trousers' pockets. Hermione turned around, ignoring the perturbed expression when his face caught the dirt on his jersey, and flashed her eyes downwards. "You may be unfamiliar with anything of a longer length, Malfoy."

He snorted. "You're exhausting."

"It's a wonder people like me."

"People? I wouldn't go that far."

"One person maybe." Her Gryffindor bravery was burning through. "There must be at least one."

"I would say one." His eyes caught the peanuts in her grip. "Plan on burning two though?"

"I…I…wasn't. Blaise suggested it." Gosh, what happened to that bravery?

Draco shrugged. "Then by all means. If you have two wizards…"

"Draco…"

"If you have two wizards in mind, burn it now. Get it done and over with." He took a step back and opened the space between them. Hermione thumbed the two objects in her hands.

"You know I don't believe in any of this."

"You shouldn't. It's a bunch of bullshit. Even a Muggle-born like you should know that."

"I could burn two nuts. Even thirty. It wouldn't mean anything." She found that bravery again and took a step closer. "You do know that."

"Why the fuck are you so close to me?"

She smiled and dropped one of the peanuts on the floor before tossing the other one in the fire. It burned quickly, easily, and Hermione blew out the soft pumpkin candle before enchanting the ashes into a tiny, nearby jar. "For unity's sake."

"You're a lunatic." He took the small jar from his own pocket and shook the contents. "See you on the other side."

She felt like a lunatic. She felt incredibly loopy and light and absolutely bonkers. The transition from fall to winter was ending in the Great Hall. Hermione watched as the fire-tinted orange reached a crescendo of ice blue and stark, pure white, vanishing completely with the slow dance of falling snow. Stars burst and ignited the pitch sky, the moon hitting its apex on the ceiling finally. The students as well as the professors applauded at the finale and Hermione herself was a bit in awe at Pansy's charm work.

"I know. It's brilliant. No thanks to you by the way." Pansy stifled another yawn as she approached the young witch. "Are you and Draco dating?"

There it was. Right in the open. Blatant and obvious and way, way too loud. Hermione tried not to fidget. She was pretty sure she failed. "I don't actually know."

"Wait, _what_? Are you both twelve? How do you _not know_?"

"Isn't it time to finish this barbaric ritual? Are the younger students all gone?"

"Smooth, Hermione. Incredibly smooth. I have completely forgotten what we were just talking about." The shorter witch laughed at the jar in her hand. "You actually went through it all?"

"It's not that much. You didn't?"

"No." She scoffed. "Some of us are too busy running this thing. But go. Trelawney's reading your aura and then you can hand the items over to McGonagall."

Hermione could not stop the eyeroll. "I suppose I can't skip that part."

"You could have skipped all of this but you didn't. I would pay good money to have Narcissa Malfoy here right now."

She wholeheartedly disagreed.


	22. Commitment

A/N:

oh my goodness. I love this fandom. Absolutely adore this fandom. I hope you all know that. _coffee-addicted_ , thanks for reviewing A LOT of my chapters very recently. _MSKendziora,_ I'm so glad you referenced how close I am staying to _Cursed Child._ I HATED that play (though have never seen it live, so maybe more accurate to say I HATED that script) but still want to "accept" it as canon with a few, **major** twists :)

Once again you guys are awesome.

* * *

 **Chapter 22: Commitment**

 **October 31, 1998**

"Yeah…this must be a mistake."

"I don't know. Seems pretty cut and dry to me. It's destiny, Hermione. You may as well get used to it."

He wasn't curious. This entire thing was just some ancient excuse to trade goats. It wasn't real magic, and what they were currently doing was such a bastardization of the _Pairing_ that even if it _were_ real magic, this version was most definitely not.

Draco glanced down at the thin piece of parchment again and crumbled it into his hand. Daphne was…typical. She was a Slytherin, a member of the Sacred 28, but beyond that Draco felt absolutely nothing towards her. The blonde girl had similarly crushed her own result. "I won't tell if you won't."

"That bad?"

"We've been in class together for seven years. I think we would have sparked a mutual attraction by now."

His eyebrow quirked at her honesty. He really hadn't thought much about Daphne besides the fact that she was blonde and terrible at Potions. Neither of those traits really appealed to him at the moment. "Don't sound so upset by it."

The girl only shrugged before walking away in a rather convincing poltergeist costume. Draco would be lying if he said he felt any sort interest towards his result of _the Pairing._ But he was left alone again and trying desperately to overhear the conversation between Granger and the girl Weasley. Sometimes he really hated himself.

"We can ask him directly. Hey Malfoy!"

Weasley was strangely calling him over. He hesitated, not believing and not actually wanting to join their conversation. He was perfectly content trying to eavesdrop. The redhead rolled her eyes when she saw that he wouldn't move and grabbed Hermione's hand before approaching him. She was stiff and pale, and there was a large part of him that wanted to take her hand away from the girl weasel and kiss it. She was entirely too nervous and twitchy and for once in his life, Draco was not enjoying it. "What do you want?"

"We got each other for _the Pairing_."

If he had been drinking he would have choked. Maybe he heard wrong and was more pissed than he thought. "What?"

"I got Ginny." Hermione held out the paper and in dark, even script, the name _Ginevra Weasley_ was spelled out. Draco couldn't rein in his laughter, and his stomach crumbled inwards so much so that he had to lean on his knees.

"You're joking."

"I'm not."

"How is that…"

"I'm convinced it's because you have a terrible crush on my boyfriend." Ginny gestured to the green Slytherin jersey. "Our costumes are definitely influencing this."

"You know you're implying that Potter also likes me? This is a two-way street, Weasley. I'd appreciate it if you would stop interfering with out eternal love."

She crossed her arms, removing the glasses from her eyes. "You're funny. An asshole, yeah, but funny. Where's your girlfriend? I could use a bit of her firewhisky."

"My…"

"Pansy's setting up the Portkey to the Hog's Head." Hermione was looking at the crumbled ball of parchment he was holding. _She's curious too._ A weight somewhere in his chest lifted. They were left alone again and he waited for her to act on it. He itched to touch her, to tell her he really didn't give a shit of what it _actually_ meant for her to get Ginny Weasley. Because it didn't mean anything. Not to him. The witch cleared her throat. "You can come if you want."

"Oh, can I? I was waiting for your permission after all."

She sniffed. "I'm guessing you didn't get any Muggle-born for a future wife?"

"No." He said the word slowly, smiling at her visible distaste. "I didn't."

It looked like Hermione just ate a lemon, her face tight, mouth small. Lemon tarts filled his brain and he flexed his hand. Damn, he really wanted to kiss her. The witch across from him smacked her lips as if hearing his thoughts before straightening her back. "Can't say I'm surprised."

"We could also stay here." There. He had said it. He didn't even realize he had wanted to say it, but it was in his mind from the moment he saw her in his jersey and he must have been _really_ pissed.

Her hands rubbed together. "Everyone will be expecting us there."

"Yeah probably."

"Aren't you worried about that?"

 _No_. He wasn't. He didn't really give a shit about any of that. "Only if you are."

"Okay."

There was no real hesitation which shocked him more than her actual response. His heart thumped. "Okay."

"Meet me at the library?"

 _Library?_ "That wasn't really what I…"

She leaned forward, peering around the room quickly before placing a soft kiss on his cheek. Her lips felt like velvet, like the smooth brush of hot air. The moon painted her face an effervescent silver, and he found himself swallowing and unfocused. She was marvelously perplexing, unexplainably confident went she needed to be but in certain instances, absolutely vulnerable. "Please Draco?"

"Alright, Hermione." He fingered a loose string of hair, his actions blinded by the dark night cast by the Great Hall. Most if not all of the students were gone or focused on the Portkey, and if Flitwick caught him touching Granger like this, well, it's not like he could lose points in Charms. "But I'm bringing alcohol."

.

.

 **May 16, 2017**

She could really use a drink.

Though that's ridiculous. She shouldn't feel that way. She should feel entirely comfortable here, maybe even excited about seeing her husband for lunch. And now that she thought about it even more, how mundane was this supposed to be? She was simply going to meet her husband for a bite to eat. That was that.

She had of course not made their lunch. She barely had any breaks at all from the Ministry, and she barely had time to fight for…for what exactly? Her marriage?

 _I'm armed with meat pies._

Hermione would have laughed at the thought if it weren't so incredibly true. _Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes_ quickly came into view, and she had to steady herself before knocking on the closed door. _This is idiotic_. Hermione sniffed at her own behavior. She was not a shy little girl. Why was she acting like one?

The door opened with the soft jingle and then the loud, almost piercing sound of recorded laughter. She saw the flame-headed hair of her husband by the counter of the joke shop and her mouth quirked upwards. _This is okay. This is good._

"Brought chicken and mushroom or steak and kidney. You can pick."

The look on Ron's face said that he was surprised, that he had not been expecting anyone let alone her. The shop was quiet in the middle of the week and day, and Hermione had to wonder how much foot traffic a shop like this could actually have. Hogsmeade was a small village and the store the Weasleys had opened was large and surely expensive to run. Though she wouldn't say that. At least she would try not to.

"I'm not really too hungry…"

"I didn't make them." She held up the bag and placed it gently on the counter in front of him. "So they should be safe to eat." The smell of buttery crust and savory spiced meat filled the air between them as she brought the pies onto the counter. Unclear why, but Hermione had the bright idea to wear one of her taller pairs of heels to this makeshift lunch. She shifted her feet before unwrapping the small containers of food. "I'll take the chicken if you have no…"

"You wanted to talk to me?" There was no real emotion in his voice, no anger or concern or worry. He was completely dispassionate and would barely hold eye contact with her for more than a few seconds at a time.

"Yes." Her stomach sank within her. She wasn't even sure what pie she passed to her husband but she left it there and started poking at her own. "You're…" Her throat was tight and dry, and Merlin her feet hurt. "You're not happy."

Ron stopped rustling behind the counter. His shoulders lifted as he exhaled, and with a firm _smack_ his hands stretched over the glass countertop in front of them both. "Hermione, I am…"

"No. You're not. And lying and pretending you are won't make it true, Ron."

He slipped back at her words, and she knew that they were raw, that her words were biting and even in the silence she felt like crying and she hated it. She hated this. This weird in-between of loving him but not knowing who he was anymore. She felt him slipping, like she was losing, and what was even more frustrating was the fact that he _didn't even seem to care_.

"What do you want me to say?"

 _Anything real_. _Anything, Ron, please._ It was hard to look at him. His eyes were outlined with black creases and circles. He was paler than normal, the stubble of his beard encroaching on his face. He seemed irritated by her declaration, by her presence, and Hermione fought back the urge to lose her temper again. "I want you tell me how I can help you. I want to help you. Ever since you left your job at the Ministry…"

"Hermione, believe it or not, I'm much happier since leaving the Ministry." There was an edge in his tone that was becoming increasingly familiar to her. She inched back. She would try to be quiet. She would try to talk about this calmly, rationally.

"I'm glad to hear it."

"You sound shocked though."

"I am."

Ron rolled his eyes and turned from the counter. The lunch she brought laid flat and cooling, and her stomach rocked again. "Why are you here? Honestly."

Honestly? She wondered when he stopped trusting her, when he started to believe that her words were shrouded, a step and twist away from their actual meaning. And then she wondered when she had started making them that way. When did she no longer feel comfortable opening herself up, letting herself feel raw and open and vulnerable in front of this man? When did it begin to feel like she was walking on eggshells, like everything she said had to be decibels more relaxed and subdued than what she actually felt?

But no. No more of that. Honestly. She would be _honest_.

"Hermione?"

Her chest tightened when he turned back around, the ice around him gone. She felt like crumbling and her hands stiffened on the countertop to steady her body. "I don't think you love me anymore."

His chin straightened, turned up, and she could tell how hard Ron was trying not to cave in on himself because she was doing the same. The joke shop was quiet, oppressing, and she watched as Ron laid his hands down on the counter across from her. A part of her thought he would reach for her, but he didn't. "I do."

And there was more of an answer there, in the weakness and guilt in his voice, than anything she would ever hear. There was the forced sharpness, the echoing familiarity, and Hermione found her own self saying, "But not like you used to."

His fingers found hers and they were warm, feather-soft on top of her shaking skin. Her eyes blurred, water clouding her vision as she looked up to face her husband. His voice quaked as he spoke. "No. Not like I used to."

.

.

 **November 1, 1998**

They have been on the floor of the library for over an hour, mostly kissing and sneaking sips of firewhisky behind the more inner sections of the stacks. They were towered, surrounded by shelves and shelves of books, and he counted himself blessed that he had managed to distract this particular witch for this long considering their surroundings.

She was warm on his tongue. She was fiery and excitable and definitely a little drunker than he was used to, and Merlin, he wasn't sure if he was ready for this. Of course, he had thought about this. And of course, he would claim to be ready and would never in a hundred years pass on this, but his head spun when she maneuvered onto his lap and he wasn't sure if it was because of the alcohol or _her_. _I've fucking lost it._

It was official. He had jumped, dove, catapulted off the deep end. He was currently on the floor of the Hogwarts library, meters away from the Herbology section, getting to second base with Hermione Granger. She had squirmed when his fingers went under his jersey and held her hips skin-to-skin.

He broke away and leaned against her ear. "Are my hands cold?"

She shook her head fiercely and reconnected their lips. Her cheeks were flushed red, and he inched higher and higher until he reached the underwire of her bra. He thumbed the tight lining briefly before slipping his pointer finger under the firm edge. She was soft, velvet smooth, and so, so _uncomfortable._ He inched away and leaned back. "You've never done this before."

Her eyes widened and her face turned hard and serious. "I believe we've done this…"

"Not this far." Draco removed his hand from her clothing. "Has no one touched…"

"I guess not." She was short, curt. Hermione swallowed. "Is that a problem?"

"Don't be like that. I just want to make sure I'm not…

"Taking advantage of me?"

"Yes." His prompt reply noticeably surprised her, but Draco only shrugged before taking another large sip from his flask. He reluctantly passed the bottle to Hermione when she held out a hand. The image had him laughing. Her hair was frizzed and completely in disarray. She was sprawled out in front of him, legs open, a loose fitting Slytherin jersey around her frame. She was red and breathy from kissing him and alcohol, and the whole thing was so weirdly…different that it had him laughing.

"What?" She sounded amused, and Hermione capped the bottle of the flask before twisting her hands in his. "What is it?"

"You like this. You here with me."

Her eyebrow arched. "You think it's funny?"

"I think it's…unexpected."

"I could say the same thing."

"Of course, you can. I'm wearing Muggle clothing for Merlin's sake."

She laughed at that and moved forward to kiss him. He collapsed into her, and it was all electricity. He was stunned and dizzied by her, the spines of books digging into his own spine because she made him fall. He needed balance, support, because she had thrown him through…through _something_. And he was not sure how he would recover.

"Hermione, stop for a second."

"Why?" She moved back fluidly, eyelashes fluttering with a mischievousness he had not expected. _Damn it._

"This isn't why you wanted to come here. …Or was it? I guess it shouldn't be completely shocking that you would get off in a library of all…"

"No." Hermione patted down her hair. "You're right. I wanted to talk to you. I don't know if it's just being with you or my hormones that just makes me so distracted."

"Definitely me." Draco kissed her again and was then met with a strong push on his chest. His smirk grew. She was one hell of a witch.

"Hormones then. Clearly."

"Must be. Or insanity. Perhaps someone has cursed the both of us."

Her normal fieriness was muted, and Draco realized he had touched upon something, on probably the something that made Hermione Granger ditch all her other classmates and sit alone in the library with him. He called her out on it. "I hate it when you're quiet."

"The last thing I expected was for you to call me quiet."

"The last thing?"

"No…maybe not the last thing. Liking you probably."

"Liking me?"

"Would be the last thing." She cleared her throat and then her hands were on his cheek, against his hair. Draco felt his heart absolutely pound. "At least this much."

"That's what you want to talk about?" He posed it as a question, but he could tell Hermione did not want to answer outright. "I like you, Hermione. I didn't think you were the type of girl that needed to hear it this often."

"Everyone likes to hear it." She poked his chest and her eyes flickered to his shirt. "Marks and Spencer is a clothing store by the way."

"What?"

"Forget it. I didn't want to talk about how much we like each other. I'm fairly certain you like me at least 50% more than I like you."

"You're a confident little…"

"Draco." The playfulness was gone. "Is it too early to talk about where this is going?"

"Yes."

"I'm trying to be serious…"

"And I am being serious." He was annoyed, positively frustrated that this stupid tradition had probably plopped into her head thoughts about fate and destiny and marriage and ever-lasting love. Because he did _not_ want to think about any of that. He did not want to try and breach the thought of introducing this girl to his parents, to his world, and the unmistakable fallout that would occur. "You've been my girlfriend for what? A few weeks? I just want to enjoy that, Hermione, and not have to…why are you looking at me like that?"

She was glowing. The initial subdued, hardened exterior was immediately softened and so, so bright. Hermione was biting back her smile. "Like what?"

"Like I just announced I was going to save all the house elves. What is…"

"You said girlfriend." She pushed a curl behind her ear, and Draco itched to touch her. So he did. He followed her hand, his fingers following the twist of her hair before falling back to her face.

"What did you expect? I don't just…kiss witches."

"You've never asked though." The spark was back. "I might say no."

He kissed her again, long and delicate. Draco shifted his hands down her shoulders and back, pushing her even more against him so that they were flushed, connected. He forced himself to break from her but only to press himself against her neck. He exhaled sharply, feeling his own heated breath rebound from her skin, and Hermione coiled to him. "Then say it." He placed a kiss right under her jawline. "Say no."

"No," She breathed, and Draco retreated backwards, shocked. Her grin was wide on her face. "Would you be my boyfriend?"

"You don't just go around kissing wizards?"

"I really don't." Her lips were on him again, soft and warm and too, too quick. "I'll say yes if you do."

"Yes then." He pushed more of her hair away from her face so that he could see how absolutely beautiful she was. It still stunned him that he ever thought otherwise. "I mean, I already thought I was your bloody boyfriend."

She sniffed. "Don't sound so excited about it."

"I'm really not."

Hermione laughed again before standing and straightening her shirt. "Me either. But can I keep this?"

"My shirt? Absolutely not." He wanted her to come back down to the ground with him. He wanted to be over her, kissing her, and taking that shirt for himself again. "But you'll say yes anyway?"

She kneels down to his eye-level and kisses his nose. "Yes anyway. Are you too sloshed to stand up?"

 _Yes_. "No."

"I'll help you." She could read through him easily, and he wondered if she always could, that, even though she was the worst possible Occlumens, this girl didn't need any magic to splice right through him.

Fuck, he was in trouble.


	23. Concession

A/N:

Apparently I'm bad at writing dates and have to go back and edit a few chapters. Sigh.

Also sorry for the less-than-great (read: bad) updating. I will keep chugging along. The next chapter is already half-way written but I can imagine it'll take some editing (let's call it the chapter where this story earns its rating).

Thanks to everyone who's willing to deal with my terrible writing schedule!

* * *

 **Chapter 23: Concessions**

 **June 5, 2018**

"This must be a joke."

"Am I laughing? Am I even smiling?"

"Well, now you are. Potter, has anyone told you how incredibly creepy your smile is? It looks like you just finished murdering someone."

It really did. The smile was too big, making his eyes look sheepishly small behind the frame of his glasses. Draco naturally felt on edge. Things usually went piss-poor for him after he saw that smile. He twirled his coffee on the long wooden table in what he now considered to be his makeshift office. When Potter had asked Draco for a chat this afternoon, he had thought it would be concerning an update on the reconstruction of the Mirror of Erised. He was making progress after all. He currently could create a glass that would reflect people's current emotions to the exact archetype of that emotion, but that was certainly still a long call away from someone's deepest desires or, for the Ministry's purpose, criminal intent.

"Ginny has extra tickets for the Holyhead Harpies. Backstage. VIP. Guess who insists that I invite Scorpius?"

"You just made me a hero, Potter." He almost regretted the words as they fell out of his mouth. "Scorpius still thinks I'm an ogre for locking his wand up for summer."

That damn smile was still on his face. "I never said you weren't an ogre." Potter pushed off from his chair. "It's this Saturday. Bring your green and yellow."

"I can promise you one of those colors." He shuffled the paper in front of him, careful not to stab himself on any bits of broken mirror. He needed a better organization system. Maybe a drawer. "You mean to invite me again to a family event?"

"It's only me and Albus. Ginny will mostly be on the field."

"No other Weasleys?" He had no desire to sit next to the king for hours on end.

Harry shook his head before standing. "Just us. Hope that's alright."

It wouldn't have been. Decades ago—Merlin—a year ago it would have been intolerable and awkward and the absolute last thing Draco had wanted to do. And sure, maybe there was still the residual bit of awkward air between the two wizards, but there was also the small but growing part of Draco that really didn't _mind_ Harry Potter. "I love my son enough to suffer a few hours with you."

"Same here. Oh, and Draco?"

Hearing his name from Potter still threw him through a loop. "Something else?"

"Sort of…the Aurors always order-in for birthdays. You're okay with Chinese?"

"Chinese?" He blinked. The words came slowly and then, Draco realized what Potter was suggesting. He leaned back in his wooden chair. "What time for lunch?"

"Twelve on the dot." Harry's head turned at the sound of heels on the stone floor. Draco moved to look as well, and out of the corner appeared Hermione Granger, hair loose and frizzed, eyes cast downwards. Harry flicked a pen on the table before stepping back even more. "I'll see you later."

The witch seemed to stutter at the sight of her friend, back twitching and the paper bag in her hand swaying aggressively from the sudden jerky motion of her body. Hermione recovered quickly, however, smiling when she saw Draco and immediately taking a seat at the table across from him. The paper bag was placed in front of them both and she quirked her head, clearly holding back a laugh. "Was that Harry?"

"He is my boss, paperwork aside."

"If that's where you're at, technically I'm…"

"Don't you dare say it, Granger." He let the smirk overtake his face. "I can barely believe I admitted that about Potter. What's this?" He needed to change the conversation before his mind completely broke. Hermione looked…lighter today. She wore a simple gold necklace that was barely revealed by the undone button of her pale blue blouse. The lines on her face were less defined, almost gone. Draco swallowed before eyeing the bag. "Present for me? You shouldn't have."

"Probably not," Hermione admitted. She pushed the bag closer to him. "You won't like it."

He pulled out a smaller box tied with red and white string from the bag and smoothly opened it to reveal small, almost bite-sized tarts with lemon curd. Draco almost laughed at the miniature pastries, but instead his fists curled. "Hermione…"

"It's nothing. Just a little something. I was hoping we could eat them after I take you to lunch."

"To lunch?"

"For your birthday?" She looked at the faux-leather banded watch on her wrist. "It is the fifth…"

"I actually have plans." His voice sounded weak, almost frail. Draco practically groaned at himself. Seeing Granger was becoming increasingly more commonplace now that he was at the Ministry more days than not. Though he still felt the same unease, the same sort of instability of where they stood and strangely, what she _wanted_ from him.

The witch swallowed and crossed her legs across from him. "Oh."

"Oh?"

"With who?"

"Potter and the Aurors."

Her eyebrows rose immediately at that, but Hermione didn't say anything. She looked instead to the paperwork spread out on the table. "Are you making progress with your work?"

Draco crossed his arms. "I plan on submitting a report next Friday."

"Good." Hermione didn't move from her seat. "Great."

"You're awkward." He could tell immediately that his bluntness shocked her, though she should have really known better. "I mean, I know we haven't been the most open with each other recently, Granger, but you're at a different level right now."

"I'm not."

"You are," Draco argued back. "You look happier, don't get me wrong, but bloody awkward."

Her hands fidgeted, proving Draco's point even more. She fingered the coil of her necklace before smoothing out the grey skirt over her knees. For a second, Draco thought she wouldn't respond, that he was too direct, too…aggressive especially now that she was in a clear, defined position of power over him. The lightness that she once carried vanished almost immediately, and Hermione continued to stare at her shoes. "I…look happier?"

"That a bad thing? Most people typically take that as a compliment. But of course…"

"Do you want to get a drink later?" Her head snapped up, the words rushing out as if she had barely thought of them. "I don't have any late meetings today. I can leave around 4:30."

"I have to be in Nice by 7 their time."

Her eyebrows furrowed. "So that's a no?"

Draco felt the edge of his mouth turn up. "Where do you want to go?"

"Have you been to the Grenadier? It's in Muggle London but I like it."

He still wanted to laugh at her. The weight was off her shoulders, definitely so, but her eyes were wide, anxious, as if she were fifteen again and waiting for him to throw one of the lemon tarts at her head. And, weirdly, a part of him _did_ if only to see how she'd react, if she'd yell and scream or temper her emotions down again because she was bloody hiding _something_ underneath that mess of hair. "No birthday cake, please."

"I got you tarts." She blinked and leaned forward, the fire replacing any awkwardness in her eyes. "I expect you to eat them."

.

.

 **December 5, 1998**

The library was becoming Draco Malfoy's new favorite room in all of Hogwarts. The Quidditch pitch—if that could be considered a room—was a close second, but he hadn't played Quidditch in years and even if he had, he doubt it could really compare to feeling up Hermione Granger against a bookcase.

And of course, she wasn't exactly the first girl he had snogged in the stacks. But kissing Pansy was the last thing he really wanted to think about when he was with Hermione and all that bloody red and gold.

"You don't mind this?" Her voice was harried, short. Her cheeks were flushed almost the same red of her scarf, and Draco touched said scarf and twisted it off her neck.

"I've gotten past the fact that you're a…"

"A _what_?" Hermione's eyes became sharp, challenging.

"A Gryffindor." Draco moved the scarf to his neck. "Overheated, Granger?"

"I meant always coming here to snog."

"Funny you should say that. I was just thinking about my newfound appreciation for the library." His hands moved down her shoulders, rubbing up and down and creating friction between his skin and the wool of her jumper. It was early afternoon, right after breakfast. He had no idea how he'd be able to focus the rest of the day.

She exhaled, his words for some reason calming her, and moved a hand through his hair. Draco felt his body twinge at her touch, relaxing, melting, soothed. "Glad you don't mind."

"Do you?"

"No!" Her whisper was harsh. "I don't."

"Books really are a turn on, huh? Okay then. We all have our things." He removed the scarf from his neck, delicately wrapping the warm garment around Hermione. Her hairline was lined with sweat, but he didn't mind. Draco pushed the bushy strands back and let his hands trail her cheekbones. "I actually have some plans this afternoon."

She looked more worried than she should. "What are you and Blaise planning?"

"Flitwick, actually. And I'm planning to raise my Charms' mark. Flitwick is probably planning on boring me to death." Draco sighed as he saw the growing smile on Hermione's face and held up a hand. "No, I don't need help. Please do not ask."

"I wasn't going to say that."

"Liar."

Hermione stuck out her tongue and Draco actually laughed at how childish she looked. His laugh carried through the library, and Hermione flinched before pushing him aside and straightening her skirt. "Sorry…I don't want people to…"

"I get it." Draco didn't, not really, but he reached down to the floor and grabbed his Charms textbook. "Do you want to hang out later? Go to the lake? The snow isn't too deep yet and I could use some fresh air."

Her lips tightened. "What time?"

"Unsure. I'll probably be let loose from Flitwick's clutches say around…3?"

Hermione shook her head. "I can't then."

"You can't?"

Her head shook again but Hermione didn't give any explanation. Shuffling her feet, Hermione continued to pat down her hair and wrapped the scarf tighter around her neck.

"When can you?"

"Tonight?"

He sniffed. "We'll freeze our knickers off. Unless that's what you had in mind."

"No." She pushed his chest lightly, and Draco leaned into her touch and kissed her quickly. Hermione broke it, smiling. "You're supposed to be teaching me how to be an Occlumens."

"Still on that? I was hoping you'd forgot."

"Draco…"

"Fine. Come to the dorms again. It's Saturday—Blaise won't be there." He kissed her again on the cheek, seemingly addicted to the feel and warmth of her skin. "I'd also like to remind you that it's my half-birthday."

The witch crossed her arms. "And?"

" _And_ I expect half a gift. Don't forget."

"You're a spoiled brat."

"You make it sound like that's news." He moved to kiss her again but thought better. He'd never leave at this rate. Draco settled for a curt wave before turning away.

.

.

 **June 5, 2018**

The streets of London were surprisingly dry that night, but Hermione had still swapped out her shoes for more sensible (or just less painful) flats to navigate the cobblestones. Draco had rolled up the sleeves to his white button-down, the air still thick and humid. "Knightsbridge. And people think I'm the posh one."

"Aren't you?" Hermione bit her lip. "And posh one out of what, exactly?"

"I don't know. Don't question me. It's my birthday."

"Prick."

"Is that okay for a potential Minister to say? It should be a bit more PC than that. Maybe _ignoramus_ or even penis if we want to be anatomically accurate."

"Draco." She stopped and opened the door for him, leaning on the heavy iron knob as the wizard smiled and walked passed her.

It was a smaller pub and restaurant, but it was still early and buzzing with people already. Hermione gestured to a table to the far side where they sat themselves. They were soon welcomed by a red-haired, freckled waitress who could have been a Weasley in another life. "I'll have a pilsner." Draco thumbed the menu in front of him. "I'm not too hungry yet."

"Same." Hermione smiled and handed the menus to the waitress, and Draco was once again staring at her, as if he were trying to pick her apart. She supposed that was fair. Had she really seemed that much happier? And if so, was being _happy_ so out of place for her? She didn't want to dwell on that. "Welcome to thirty-eight."

"Is it as terrible as you make it seem?"

She sniffed. "You're rather spirited today." Her heart pumped. She missed speaking with him, and the energy Draco was building was almost like…almost like when they were dating. Hermione let herself touch on that thought briefly before reclining back in her chair, thanking the waitress when a pint of pilsner was set in front of both of them. "So Nice tonight?"

"Astoria is already there with my parents. She's been staying with them often actually." Draco took a light sip of his beer. "She'll be back in the Manor once Scorpius is home."

"How is she faring?"

A blond eyebrow quirked up at that, and the sip Draco took was longer this time. "Not well." His voice was flat, emotionless.

"I've been looking. I…I'm sorry I've been a little distracted, but I've been asking. I even managed to speak to several people from MACUSA but no word yet. Those…" She swallowed. "That illness is more ancient than the Americas."

"Thank you."

"Of course, Draco. How could you…"

"You didn't have to," He said seriously, eyes straight and hard on her face. "You don't have to do anything for me and my family but you are."

"Don't be ridiculous. You would do the same for me." Hermione shooed away his sniff and hunched shoulders. "You know you would."

"I would." He laid his hands flat on the table, stretching his long, pale fingers, the silver of his wedding ring skidding across the wood. Hermione stared at it, thinking how out of place it looked, how her own gold one looked so strange, so foreign all of the sudden. Twenty years later, Draco looked nearly identical to his eighteen-year-old self. His cheekbones were high, strong, almost making the skin on his face look taut. His eyes were full, distracting, and so incredibly Malfoy. They had always been startling, but in the soft glow of the pub's light, Hermione couldn't stop thinking about how strange they actually were. She must have looked incredibly plain in comparison. Brown eyes. Brown hair. While he was all white and silver. His tongue fell over his lips, licking them wet. "It's nice of you to take me out like this."

"Because we're not friends?"

He laughed at her brashness, she was sure. "We aren't, but you are still one of the only witches in that place I can bear to be around."

"Should I have invited Pansy?"

"No." He crossed his arms. "I never said she made the cut either. How are you?"

He said it so languidly, so effortlessly that it made it seem like the question wasn't incredibly loaded. She watched the wizard practically spill his beer at another big sip and pushed the cloth napkin to him. "I suppose I'm happy."

"So you and Weasley worked it out? I'm glad to…"

"I didn't say that." She waited for an outburst, for Draco to guffaw or say something incredibly sarcastic. But he didn't. He stiffened, back straight, and she knew he was waiting for her to continue. Hermione fingered her gold ring. "He refuses to go to counseling."

"To what?"

"Counseling. Do no wizards know about this?" The fight was still strong in her memory—her and Ron in the family room, Hugo and Rose at school, and them incredibly late for work. He had just gotten back—the fourth time he picked up and left for the Burrow after a tight argument about buying Rose the newest broom of all things—and Hermione had given him the name and references for a doctor she had found. A couple's therapist. Someone who could help them. Someone who could _fix this_.

"I know of a few families who sought more…traditional methods to try and fix their marriage."

"More traditional?"

"It's idiotic." He waved off the thought. "Get a candle and rock for the elements, stand in a circle. Unclear how any of those things help with infidelity."

"Ron's not unfaithful."

"I wasn't saying he is." Draco let his fingers tap the table, and Hermione wondered why he was getting frustrated.

"Though he hasn't suggested any of those things either."

"So, what has he suggested?"

 _Nothing._ She wanted to say it, the word on the tip of her tongue and teeth. "Is it…" Hermione exhaled and placed a hand on the warm glass of her beer, suddenly wishing that it was something much, much stronger. "Is it terrible that I wish he were angrier?"

"What?"

"Like…" Hermione shook her head. It was hard to explain this and the analogy that came to her would have annoyed him. _Stop being ridiculous. You're not a little girl._ No, she wasn't. She took a sip of beer. "I was shattered when we fought."

His eyes widened. "Hermione…"

"And you were too, weren't you? You were obnoxious and terrible."

"We screamed a lot."

"We did."

"I hated making you cry." He looked away from her, words weak. "I…I fucking hated that."

"There were a thousand reasons why it wouldn't have worked, Draco. I know that. You do too." She expected him to nod, agree, but all the wizard did was stare at his hand. "But I wanted to fight for it. Didn't…didn't you?"

His chest visibly lifted as he breathed. "Of course, I did."

"Ron doesn't. He doesn't want to do anything."

"Except leave."

"Don't…"

"I'm sorry." His voice was gruff and completely unapologetic. "It's not my place. It's absolutely not my place at all."

She pushed him. "But?"

"But he's a fucking coward." Draco spoke with venom. "I don't need to tell you how I feel about him. You know that already. And how he's been treating you has not made me like him any more."

Her mind was focused only on one word. "Coward?"

"You said it yourself. He's not a fighter. He's not fighting for you. Does he know…Has he _met_ you? Hermione, you're…" He cut himself off. "Look, are you asking me for advice? That's an incredibly stupid thing for you to do. I'm not exactly an objective observer."

"But I'm asking."

"You are?" He sniffed. "Fine. Okay. Look, as much as we try to deny it, I knew you, Hermione Granger. And unless you've changed dramatically these past years, which maybe you have, then I still know you. And you're not the type to stand idly and let things…"

"Die?" Hermione offered.

"Eat at you." Draco corrected. "You're incredibly solution driven, Granger. And you're a bloody Gryffindor."

She sniffed over her beer. "I fail to see how houses come in to play."

"Houses are always in play. There's a reason you were sorted there. You act first, then think."

"You make us sound so brash and…"

"And?" Draco teased. "You are. But it works for you—Merlin knows how but it does."

More and more people were thrumming through the Grenadier, Londoners tired and exhausted from work. Her eyes fell to the clock on the wall. They had been sitting here for fifteen minutes, discussing her marriage of all things. Her gut clenched. "Draco, this is terrible birthday conversation."

"It's not my topic of choice. I agree." He thrummed the table. "Have you been to Nice?"

"Are you inviting me?"

"Could you imagine? Absolutely not. I'm just asking. Changing the subject to something not so fucking depressing." He raised a hand for the waitress. "Do you want something harder?"

"What?"

"Yes, yes." Draco was already turning away from her and pointing to the bar for the waitress. "What do you have here? Cardhu? Sure, on the rocks please. Two."

Hermione bristled. "Draco, you shouldn't really…"

"This is for you. And for me. It is my birthday after all, and my parents are all about wine now." He straightened in his seat. "Unless you have to go?"

"I don't. Hugo's at a sleepover."

"How…exotic."

She kicked him from under the table and Draco cursed before laughing. The sound made Hermione tinge, made her feel warm and giddy, and on reflex, her hand moved to touch his. Draco didn't recoil, but his eyes flickered at the contact. And they remained touching until the waitress came back and set two glasses of whiskey down between them.

"You're chilly." Draco did not make eye contact, but he did reach and take a long sip from his glass. "That's new."

Hermione didn't respond, not knowing what to say. His own pale skin had felt blistering and smooth, and she knew she shouldn't—she really, really shouldn't—but she wanted to touch him again, itched for it. This man had…this man had been everything to her once. In that little, crazy way only an eighteen-year-old could feel, Draco Malfoy had meant the world. And she had written those emotions off as crazy, insane, as childish and naïve because maybe they were. Maybe they were all those things but she had still felt them, and deep, deep within her bones they still clawed at her.

And then, with sudden force, Draco reached over the table again and grabbed her left wrist. His fingers stroked the soft skin of her turned forearm, and she would have stopped him, would have pulled back, if she didn't know what he was looking for. "It's practically gone."

"You never used to wear short sleeves." His grey gaze burned for the mark. "I can still feel it…a little bit."

"You still never wear short sleeves." She looked at his left arm and could see it even though his skin wasn't visible. The mark, the memory of seeing it for the first time, was burned in her brain. "I can probably…"

"I don't want it removed," Draco bit. Hermione withdrew her arm at his tone, and the blond wizard sat back before finishing his whisky. "I swear we can talk about something happy."

"Can we?"

"Maybe. Possibly. We should at least give it a go. I hear Pansy has gotten some legislation through protecting chizpurfles." Draco's smile grew. It looked as if he were glowing, and Hermione knew it was a reflection of her own face. "Tell me that had everything to do with you."

"What if I told you it had nothing to do with me?"

"Then I'd call you a liar."

"Brash, liar…any other names? You have a free pass." The whisky burned her throat. "I hear Scorpius is horrid at Quidditch."

"I hear Rose is horrid at Potions."

"Take that back."

"Why? It's the…" He flinched as she made contact with his shin again.


End file.
